


Aces Up Your Sleeve

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Use During Scene, Alternate Universe - BDSM, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Anal Plug, Author Continues to Abuse Commas, BDSM, Collars, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, F/F, Face Slapping, Fluff, Goose is also a Cat, Happy Ending, Impact Play, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kink Negotiation, Kneeling, Maris Has Anxiety, Masturbation, Mental Health Issues, Monica is a Cat, Nipple Piercings, Object Insertion, Open and Honest Communication is Sexy, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, PTSD, Praise Kink, Punishment, Restraints, Safe Sane and Consensual, Stretching, Sub!Maria, Temperature Play, Tongue Piercings, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Verbal Humiliation, Voyeurism, dom!Carol, insecure!Maria, veteran!Carol, veteran!Maria
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-03-30 04:00:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 26,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19034341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Maria Rambeau is young, anxious, and desperate to find a way to inject caffeine directly into her veins. She frequents a coffee shop near her job, always ordering the same thing, standing in the same place as she waits, sitting in the same place when she stays, until one day a stranger is in her spot.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading. :) I'll be tagging BDSM tags as we go, and will also post them in the author's notes. They'll be at the end so there's no spoilers. 
> 
> Nothing for the first chapter though! 
> 
> Also, this story is already written, so I'll be updating relatively quickly.

Maria is late, only Maria is never late. Maria is carefully planned routes and automated feeding machines, standing orders at a standing shop that never moves and reliable shoes that don’t hurt her feet when she lectures all day. Maria cannot, however, control protesting crowds who are making it difficult to navigate the half mile walk to the university, so she is late. Late enough that she will likely miss her first lecture, late enough that she texted a colleague to please make a sign for the door so students don’t wait for her, late enough that she’s desperately trying to figure out a way to inject caffeine directly into her veins before she has her second class, a smaller class, one that will surely notice if she’s off her game. 

Walking into the small coffee shop she frequents is a blessing, a small slice of normalcy in what is shaping up to be an incredibly trying day. She can almost feel herself unwinding as she steps into SHIELD Coffee, breathing in the familiar and easy scent of fresh baked pastries and home brewed coffee. Nick is behind the counter and eyes her with as much surprise as can be mustered for a man with a generally limited range of emotional expressions. 

“You’re late,” he says gruffly, and it would be off-putting if she didn’t catch the small, happy inflection in his tone. He narrows his eyes as if he can read her thoughts and she hurries to place her order.

“Can I have a-”

“Large drip coffee, three pumps of hazelnut, three cream, and three Splenda with a cranberry-almond muffin. All to go,” a brighter, more playful voice says as a slender middle-aged man steps into view. Phil offers her the aforementioned items and swats at his husband for trying to accept Maria’s money.

“You must be having a bad day if you’re in here late,” he says with a small note of sympathy, “if you have time to stick around for a few minutes I’ll make you some lunch. Surely you left yours at home?”

Maria blushes and stutters out an affirmative under the weight of Nick’s unrepentant chuckling. 

“No one is immune to his charms,” he says and Maria might think it were wistful if she were describing any other man. Instead, she glances pointedly at the gold band adorning the ring finger of his left hand and turns to head to her seat. The wonderful spot in the back of the cafe, furthest away from the door and thus, any chance of being harassed by people walking inside with wet umbrellas or shrieking children. She makes it all of two steps when she notices something different. 

Someone is in her booth. 

Not that her name is on it, of course, but she always sits there. She always comes at the same time on the weekends where she’ll be staying, always brings a book to read, always curls up with her weekend order of one green tea, three soy milk and three Splenda, one thick slice of banana nut bread. 

But this is not a weekend. This is Monday morning, right after the rush of those with nine to five jobs. This is an anomaly. 

The woman sitting in the booth is slender and handsome. One might call her beautiful, but Maria rather thinks that handsome is more suited to describing her strong jaw, her shoulder-length blonde hair that curls slightly, her tanned skin and full lips. Maria is frozen in place, heart thumping away, unable to do anything but stare dumbly at toned arms and long fingers typing away on a laptop, at collarbones peeking out from beneath the straps of her blue tank top. It has a star in the middle. 

This woman is an anomaly; an anomaly who raises her eyes up over her laptop to grasp at one of the papers sitting behind it and catches Maria’s eyes. Light brown eyes meet dark and Maria almost drops her cup. 

“Do I have something on my face?” a sweet, slightly-deep voice calls to her and distantly Maria realizes that the mystery woman is speaking to her. She sounds amused but Maria is already in knots, knowing she has made a fool of herself.

“No, sorry, I just- I normally sit there so I was surprised is all.” The words come out in a jumble, too fast but Maria feels almost proud that she only stumbled once. She turns to choose another table when that voice dances to her ears again.

“I have plenty of room, if you’d like to join me.”

Maria doesn’t want to be rude. She convinces herself that denying this stranger, this woman who has insisted on messing with her routine - and really that’s just irrational because she was already late - would be unforgivably impolite. She perches at the end of the booth, taking care not to knock her legs against the other woman’s and sets her breakfast down as the stranger shuffles her scattering of papers further down the table. She pulls her notebook from her tote bag and is getting ready to review her notes, notes she’s long since memorized, when the stranger speaks again.

“I’m Carol,” she says and Maria blinks, surprised.

“Maria,” she responds and prays that this woman - Carol - can’t see the way her stomach is folding over itself. She picks a stray almond off of the paper wrapping of her muffin and slips it between her lips. She chews slowly, willing herself to breathe with any sort of regularity and act like she makes small talk every day. “How are you?”

Nailed it.

“I’d be a lot better if this would just write itself,” Carol groans and takes a sip from the mug by her side. It must be cold because she grimaces, sighs, and sets the mug down as if it has done her a personal injustice.

“What are you writing?” and damnit, she meant to nod politely and go on eating, but the words slip from her mouth as she opens up to take another bite.

“A literature review. I’m a psychologist,” Carol offers by way of explanation. “What do you do?” 

“I’m a professor, um, a professor of neuroscience.”

“Wicked. I never could grasp any of that biology stuff,” Carol laughs. She must forget that her coffee is cold because she takes another sip. She knocks the rest of it back like a shot and looks pleased with herself for a quick second. “Where do you teach?”

“Stark University.”

“No way! I’m supposed to give a talk there next week.” Her fingers circle the rim of her now-empty mug as she speaks. Her touch is feather light, Maria can tell because she can’t seem to stop staring at them, her skin tingling oddly. She is reminded of videos, one of the few spontaneities allowed, that are never bookmarked but always returned to. She thinks of long, tanned fingers encircling her throat and almost jerks herself back to the present. 

Carol is looking at her from beneath long blonde lashes. Her eyes are narrowed slightly and she knows. Maria knows she knows, but before she can stammer out an apology, an excuse, anything to ease her mortification at being caught, Phil is striding up to the table with a small, compostable take out container in his hands. 

“Maria! I see you’ve met Carol. She just moved here about a week ago. Said she needed some good coffee to get her through the day and I haven’t been able to get rid of her since.” His smile is joyful and sincere but Maria is already stumbling up from the booth and taking the food with a quick thanks. She is hurriedly leaving the cafe before he can get another word in, door swinging shut behind her.

She’s left her notebook on the table.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't expecting such a warm welcome, thank you all! I will always try to respond to your comments individually but I'm a student so I may not always have time. Either way, I appreciate you all very much and I hope you enjoy this next chapter. 
> 
> Warnings at the end.

Maria is breathing heavily, pressed with her back against the solid oak wood of the door to her office. She feels a droplet of sweat traveling down her spine and swears she can hear it hit the floor, the only other sound in the room save for her strained gasps. Her thighs are quivering and she threatens to collapse, hands fisted in the bottom of her shirt, face pointed towards the ceiling as if begging for some salvation she cannot bring herself to believe in. 

There are tears running down her cheeks and her chest heaves with the exertion of keeping the wailing sobs that beg to be let out at bay. After leaving the cafe she had been a mess. She’d arrived to her class and lectured on autopilot, gently correcting students’ clumsy first attempts at dissecting a sheep’s brain. She’d made it through several classes that way, floating through the lab in a swish of crisp white fabric and the faint scent of formaldehyde. She considered herself lucky to be able to give this opportunity to her students, to watch their faces twist with astonishment and disgust as she cut carefully through connecting tissues. She’d been fine, until the last class had left. 

Even then, she had been alright. She cleaned with efficiency that came with years of routine, stripping mats from tables and stacking piles of to-be-laundered lab coats onto a cart. She tugged on rubber gloves and began hand washing the scalpels, taking care to be sure every inch of metal was glistening before moving on to the next. She’d lost herself in the mindless task and found that she wasn’t aware of time passing at all until she’d come to, blood dripping down her hand into the sink, slowly being washed away by running water. The scalpel has sliced neatly through her rubber gloves and sunk its teeth into the soft flesh hiding beneath them. 

She’d stared into the drain for a moment and wondered what the watery pink liquid would look like untainted, running down her back like the droplets of sweat that now made their way down her trembling body. Surely, she’d be trembling, but for another reason. Images of leather hitting her flesh flashed before her eyes before she could bring herself to take action to care for her bleeding hand. 

It didn’t escape her that the hand wielding the biting material was smooth and tanned, with long fingers and short but neatly manicured nails.

Now she props herself against the door of her temporary sanctuary and sobs. It feels as though she is being torn apart. She knows it has been too long: too long between appointments, between filling prescriptions and doing more than ignoring reminder calls from the pharmacy, between meeting a nice person and going on a nice date and eating nice food and doing nice things like a nice couple before they realize that Maria is Not Nice and is anxious and sweet and eager to please but difficult to handle, she who worries too much and eats too little and doesn’t remember to return calls but will remember that her cat once looked at a blue mouse toy on her computer screen and she had to buy it because Monica was all she had left and- 

And she is crying harder now. Her chest is painfully tight and she has sunk to a seated position with her elbows on her knees, arms crossed and forehead pressed into them as if she could make herself small enough to hide from the world. She cannot help but remember the way she’d acted that morning and she’s crying for what might have been, what could have been, what should have been if she’d- 

There is a knock at her door.

She freezes. 

She knows that whoever is on the other side has heard her, is aware that she’s there. She hopes and pleads and prays to whoever might be listening that this person takes the hint and leaves her to wallow in her misery, to replay every second of that interaction and agonize over where she’d went wrong and- 

The knock comes again, softer but somehow more insistent this time.

“Maria?” a distorted but newly familiar voice calls through the thickness of the wood separating them and against better judgement, almost against her will, Maria is flinging open the door without a second thought to her appearance in comparison to the stunning woman standing on the other side.

She notices that Carol has changed clothes. She’s wearing a red blouse now and the star from her tank top seems to have migrated; it now hangs from a thin golden chain around a thin, elegant neck. She has on black dress pants and a pair of heels that make Maria wonder if being stepped on is something she might need to explore.

She feels foolish and disheveled in comparison: her close cropped hair is messy at the back from sliding down the door and her eyes are puffy with the lurking remnants of an anxiety attack. She wonders if she still smells like formaldehyde and realizes that she has been staring at Carol for an inappropriate amount of time now, so she steps back and beckons her forward wondering what has gotten into her.

“I’m sorry. Please come in.”

Carol flashes her a small look of concern before schooling her features into something more neutral and stepping through the door. She gives the room before her and appreciative hum.

“You forgot your notebook,” she says kindly and holds it out to Maria. There’s one hand behind her back and it seems almost hesitant to come forward. “I also brought you a tea from SHIELD. Phil told me what kind you like and I thought it might be nice after a long day,” she continues and finally moves her arm to reveal a steaming cup of tea. 

Maria feels conflicted: there’s the slow ebbing of her anxiety at the sight of her favorite tea and the promise of its familiar comfort, but her heart still pounds and she feels almost sick at the thought of this woman knowing just how welcome the tea is. 

She takes the tea anyway and indulges in a long sip. Her eyes meet Carol’s over the rim of the to-go cup and it’s worth every bit of jumbled messiness she felt when her new friend’s - and when had that happened? - lips slowly stretch into a pleased smile. She feels her cheeks heat and ducks her head.

“Have you eaten?” the words are out before she can stop herself and she finds herself wondering what it is about Carol that erodes any built of self-control. 

“I just mean, you came all this way, and it’s pretty late now, and there’s a pretty good place around the corner. Okay, it’s actually a bit of a dive bar but it’s really comfortable and the owners are nice and it’s actually really-”

“Maria,” a firm voice cuts off her babbling and she wonders if it’s possible to sink into the floor, “I would love to. I love a good whiskey,” Carol ends with a wink. 

“Okay, um, okay. If you could just give me a moment to straighten things up here and then we can walk over?” 

Carol nods and steps away, making a beeline for the bookshelves lining the walls. She runs her fingers idly down the dust-free shelves, occasionally plucking one that catches her eye out and opening it to read the dust jacket. Maria appreciates that she takes care to put them back exactly where they were and her heart swells at the simple thoughtfulness. 

“I’m ready now,” she announces as she tugs on a longline sweater to protect her from the chilly evening air. She wishes that she’d taken to keeping a change of clothes in her office so that she might look half as put together as her.. Date? She wonders if this is a date. She thinks distractedly that at least she’d managed to finger-comb her hair into something resembling good style. 

Carol opens the door for her and waits patiently as she locks up. They make their way down the warm, luxurious halls of the building. Carol’s heels click rhythmically in the background of their small talk. She smiles every time Carol lengthens her stride slightly to reach the door in time to hold it open for her. 

“Would you actually mind if we drove over? I know it’s not far but I’d rather not leave my car around a bunch of exhausted college kids,” Carol explains. 

Maria shrugs and nods. She tries to keep her jaw from dropping when Carol leads her to a sleek, black car. Maria doesn’t recognize the make or model, thinks perhaps it might be a foreign import, but she can recognize luxury in the uncreased leather of the heated seats and the way the engine doesn’t roar to life so much as it purrs. The ride is smooth and Maria finds that, somehow, she doesn’t even mind that Carol thinks speed limits are suggestions. 

Too soon they’re pulling up to Red Room and Carol is opening the car door for her, extending one hand to help her out of the low seats. Maria feels her cheeks heat again as their hands meet and wonders idly if you can die from too much blood rushing to your face too often. 

They’ve parked, quite illegally, away from all of the other cars in the parking lot and have a bit of a walk to the door. Again, Carol opens it for her. 

Any questions Maria has about whether this outing should be considered a date are answered when she steps through and feels a light but firm hand pressing at the small of her back, guiding her through as Carol stepped up beside her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anxiety attack, mentions of blood


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a longer chapter this time, things are picking up now. :)
> 
> I also want to note that Maria has anxiety. I, too, have anxiety and have based her character (loosely) around my own (slightly altered, idealized) feelings. This is not to say that Maria's situation is representative of the whole community but I hope this helps when understanding how I've chosen to write her character. 
> 
> Also, Carol is really suave in my mind. At least in this story.
> 
> As always, tags at the bottom.

Maria wondered if she had ever felt this comfortable, this relaxed. She wouldn’t, couldn’t, shouldn’t, bring herself to believe that the woman seated in front of her could fix the chemical imbalance in her brain. Of course not, but in this moment, sleeves pushed up so that her bare forearms can rest on the cool, polished wood of the table and throat still tingling with the pleasant burn of good whiskey and good conversation, she thinks that she might be able to hold this little piece of peace in her mind long enough to contemplate further steps.

It’s not hard to hear Carol over the heady, sensual music of the bar and Maria finds the time to spare an appreciative glance at the bar where a tall, built man stands pouring drinks with one hand, the other shoulder wrapped in a soft, expensive-looking silver cloth. She’s glad that Bucky is there, as opposed to Steve or Tony. She doesn’t pretend to understand their relationship, only guesses at their dynamic using the context of the music they play when they bartend: Bucky and his psychedelic rock music, Steve and his tempered changes between Buddy Holly and Johnny Cash, Tony and his loud, not-quite-headache-inducing-but-almost-there classic rock selections.

That the nights were made mainly for saying things that you can’t . . . another drink?

Maria comes back to herself with a small jolt and a flush. She flashes an apologetic smile at Carol, who raises one delicate eyebrow but doesn’t look put-out.

“Would you like another drink?”

“Yes, please, but I’ll grab this round, don’t worry. What would you like?”

“An old fashioned, extra cherry.”

A nod and a brief squeeze of Carol’s hand, somehow having tangled with hers over the course of their conversation, has her leaving the booth and feeling chilly where there had previously been warmth. The few quick steps to the bar seems to take an eternity but she takes the time to collect herself. It’s a wonder she hasn’t been abandoned yet and she can’t help but wonder what the catch is - beautiful women with hard to place accents and tight, fit bodies are not into her, with her longline cardigans and generally hurried appearance.

“Y’got yourself a cute one,” Bucky drawls when she approaches. He’s all dirty flirtation and Brooklyn letters but she’s seen him with his partners, doting and soft. She levels him with a playful glare. He turns to mix her usual drink and,

“Actually, um, could I get a daiquiri? Strawberry with a bit of kiwi, if you’ve got it, and an old fashioned with an extra cherry”

Bucky falters momentarily, surprised by her sudden willingness to switch from the same drink she’s been ordering for years now, a remnant from her time in the military she’d once told him before clamming up and shooting back whiskey like it was going to run away. He’d never asked again and he doesn’t ask now, but he does look once more in Carol’s direction when he pushes the glasses across the bar. She flashes him a small but hopeful smile and he nods his approval. She hadn’t asked, but somehow it’s all the better having it.

She turns on one heel, proud of herself for not faltering after a maneuver reminiscent of her time spent overseas, and makes her way back to their table.

“Sweet girl,” Carol purrs, pleased, when she sets the drink down before her. This time she does falter but recovers quickly, resisting the urge to bow her head. She looks Carol in her eye, ignoring the burning in her cheeks, and nods her acceptance of the term.

Carol’s grin stretches and she fishes a cherry out with a toothpick as Maria takes her seat. She holds it out to her invitingly.

Maria stretches forward, pink tongue darting out to catch the drop of juice that threatens to fall and stain the tabletop, and curls her lips around the cherry. She hums appreciatively at the sweetness of the fruit as she chews slowly, watching Carol do something similar - but somehow much more obscene - with the remaining red orb.

They drink in silence for a few moments. It’s not an uncomfortable silence and Maria’s grateful for that, reflecting on too many bad dates spent trying desperately to find a small-talk topic not yet broached.

“I think there’s something we need to talk about, don’t you?” Carol says lowly, reaching out with cool fingertips to tilt Maria’s chin up so they see eye to eye.

Suddenly unable to speak, Maria swallows carefully and nods, cursing herself for losing her voice. Carol doesn’t seem to mind, she only tosses back the rest of her drink and stands from the booth, extending one hand.

In a moment of boldness, Maria shoots back her own glass of liquid courage and takes the proffered hand.

“You’ve been drinking,” she says lightly, “I would hate for you to get into an accident. I have a wonderful espresso machine at my house and it’s not a far walk.”

“Thoughtful,” Carol hums as they walk back to the front of the building. Maria turns and waves to Bucky over her shoulder who flicks his eyes meaningfully to the hand resting at the small of her back.

She sticks her tongue out at him.

The walk back seems shorter with Carol by her side, occasionally pointing out interesting buildings and asking about their contents. Maria is happy to play tour guide, promising to take her by her favorite bookstore.

“Tony owns it!” she says excitedly, forgetting for a moment that Carol hasn’t the slightest idea who Tony is.

“Tony?” she inquires, appreciating the bounciness that’s appeared in Maria’s step as their talk of books began.

“Tony Stark; self proclaimed genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist,” she responds but with a hint of fond sarcasm. “He can’t call himself a playboy anymore though, he’s tied down. He, Steve, and Bucky own the bar we were just in. He was pretty wild when he was younger but he’s calmed down since getting with them. I’m sure you’ll meet him soon.”

She flushes in face of her presumptuousness but Carol seems to take it all in stride.

“I’d love to meet him. Why do you like this bookstore in particular?”

“It’s owned by one of my former students. Tony took him under his wing when he was doing his master’s in biophysics, learned about some struggles Peter was facing at home, and became sort of like a father figure to him. Eventually, Peter decided that he didn’t like being in industry and Tony gave him the money to open a bookstore with the stipulation that Peter find some way to give back to the community. So, now, there’s weekly programming with free dinners and snacks for kids who would otherwise be going hungry or running the streets. Sometimes I refer my students over there if they’ve got kids at home.”

“You’re amazing, you seem to care so much about the people around you.”

“I try.. I didn’t always have the community I have here, so I’m grateful for how welcoming everyone has been. It’s.. a bit difficult sometimes. I have anxiety- I mean, I’m sure you’ve noticed, but it can get pretty bad sometimes and they take care of me in their own ways.”

Maria has stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, looking down and kicking at a crack in the curb with some level of frustration. Carol runs one hand soothingly over her shoulder blades.

“I would never think less of you for that. We all have our sufferings. I, myself, struggled with PTSD for some time after returning to the states. But that’s a sad story for a time that’s much less happy than this one, yes?”

Grateful for the acknowledgement and appreciative of the smooth subject change and lack of pressuring, Maria snakes her own arm around Carol’s waist and leads them both a bit further. They stop in front of a modest townhome, tastefully decorated with small airplane decor. They’re greeted by grumpy meowing as they enter the foyer and toe off their shoes.

“I know sweetheart, I’ve missed you too. I’m a little late, aren’t I?” Maria coos as she bends down to pick up a small but astoundingly fluffy brown cat. “This is Carol,” she says as she turns to their unexpected guest, “and this is Monica,” she says her date who is already reaching out to scratch behind Monica’s ears.

“She’s a sweetheart,” Carol murmurs as Monica all but jumps into her arms, “just like her owner.”

Feeling bold once again, Maria steps forward and presses her lips to Carol’s cheek, trailing down her jawline to soft, supple lips. She’s leaning back and walking towards the kitchen before Carol can shift the weight in her arms and respond to her onslaught, resisting the urge to press her fingers to her own tingling lips and calling coyly over one shoulder, “what kind of coffee would you like?”

Carol’s eyes are dark and her cheeks are flushed but her expression itself is that of impeccable self-control when she responds, “a latte, please. One sugar.”

She knows she’ll have her revenge later.

Maria returns shortly with the drinks: one latte, and a macchiato for herself. She takes a seat across from Carol, who has somehow managed to sit down herself and has a lapful of Monica sprawled out, batting at her and demanding tummy rubs.

“We need to talk,” she says firmly but Maria senses that if she really wished it, Carol would drop the topic and move on to more neutral matters. Normal dating, no contracts, no negotiations, no safe words or check ins and she wonders briefly if she wants that.

“We do,” she says instead.

“What do you want to know?” Carol offers, letting Maria take control of the situation.

“Have you ever done this before,” after only a moment’s hesitation.

“I have,” and no hesitation there, “several times. Though never within the context of a relationship that isn’t purely casual, or mentor/mentee.”

“I’ve done it once, in a relationship I mean, and had some casual encounters as well. What- what’s your preferred..” she trails off uncertainly, almost worried that she won’t get the terminology wrong.

“I prefer to call myself a Domme. Mistress, if that helps. I don’t typically switch but that’s open to negotiation if you want. If I may be presumptuous, that is.”

“Yes, please. Um, you can presume. I guess I’m a submissive, but maybe you can tell.. I’m a bit.. soft? Maybe weak? I can be a lot of work, I think.”

“You are not weak, Maria,” Carol says with a startling amount of firmness in her voice. “Nor is any other submissive. Your submission is a gift and says nothing about your personality as a whole. I will endeavor to overwrite the memories of whoever put that notion in your head.”

Maria flushes, this time with embarrassment and shame having said the wrong thing. She fumbles with the bottom of her shirt and exhales sharply. She feels fingers under her chin once more, gently but insistently lifting her head.

“I mean no offense to you, sweet girl. I only mean that you are to be cherished, and I would like to see you confident in yourself, in your submission. You should never feel ashamed or embarrassed for sharing your thoughts and feelings with me. I appreciate your honesty and hope you will always give it to me.”

Maria searches Carol’s eyes for any sort of deception but only finds patience and affection. She nods and Carol rewards her with a gentle kiss.

Maria whines when she pulls away.

“We’ll need to be tested, to negotiate. Is that alright with you?”

“Yes,” and Maria hesitates, feeling as though she needs to tack something onto the end of her response but also feeling like it’s much too soon for that. Carol must notice because she rests one hand on her thigh and squeezes gently.

“Soon,” she says knowingly, “would you like to go together or separately to be tested?”

“Separate, if that’s okay with you.”

“Of course. I’ll make an appointment for later this week.”

“I’m sure I can slip in sometime tomorrow to the student center. Um.. Can I have your phone number? So I can text you when the results come in.”

Carol whips out a shiny looking iPhone, brand new it seems, with a textured case it. After entering her phone number into it Maria flips it over and runs her fingers admiringly over a detailed rendition of Han Solo encased in carbonite. “Big Star Wars fan?” she says teasingly?

“Huge,” Carol responds. “And you?”

“I’m a Star Trek gal, but I like them both. Nothing beats the goofiness of the Original Series though.”

“I suppose I can handle that,” Carol says with a wink as she sips the last dregs of her coffee.

She wraps one slender hand around the back of Maria’s neck, not squeezing or pushing, just lightly caressing the smooth skin beneath hers. Maria leans invitingly into her motions and turns to angle her body towards her. She looks questioningly at Carol’s now suspiciously empty lap and receives a nod of acquiesce in response. Happily, she climbs into the free space.

Their kisses begin slowly, more light nips and ghosting lips than anything else, but quickly become a clash of tongues and teeth, all soft growls and high groans. Maria feels intoxicated in the best of ways, arching into hands that come down to grasp just beneath her bottom, holding her thighs. She can’t help but roll her hips when Carol presses lingering kisses down her neck and gasps when she feels a firm hand holding her in place. She whines softly and wonders when she became so needy.

“Not now, sweet girl,” Carol murmurs gently against her skin and it takes every bit of Maria’s waning self control to keep from pouting. Instead, they lose themselves in each other. Carol stops herself from going further than stroking the soft skin of Maria’s surprisingly toned stomach, thumbs having slipped beneath the fabric of her shirt.

Eventually, they still, gasping and throbbing with need. Maria’s face is buried in Carol’s neck, nose tickled by stray blonde hairs.

“I’m afraid I must remove myself from your presence if I’m going to keep any semblance of self-control,” Carol chuckles softly, rubbing her soon-to-be lover’s back soothingly. She gently untangles them and stands, stretching in a way that reminds Maria of Monica in the mornings. She leans down and presses a chaste kiss to silky black hair.

“Please text me when you get to your car. I want to know that you’re safe.”

“Will do,” and then she is gone, the faint scent of perfume the only thing left to prove this wasn’t a dream.

Maria takes their dishes to the sink and washes them idly, talking to Monica about her hopes for this budding relationship. She tidies the rest of the living room and kitchen before walking to her bedroom for a quick shower. The one thing she will thank the military for is her cheap water bill; she rarely takes showers that exceed ten minutes.

She’s just slipping into an old t-shirt and a pair of lounge pants when her watch buzzes with an incoming notification. She pads into the living room to retrieve her phone and flicks it open as she climbs into bed.

_From: Carol Danvers_   
_Arrived safely. I bid you goodnight, with hopes that you will remember this night as fondly as I will. Please, feel free to text me before you get your results as well. I’d love to hear from you._

Maria sleeps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> light forays into dom/sub, non-sexual praise kink


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize that I literally just uploaded a chapter earlier today but I was bored at work and figured I'd upload the next one because it's a bit of a shorter one before things get ~steamy.~
> 
> Also, yes, I'm black. No, I don't use shampoo, only conditioner or hair masks. 
> 
> No tags for this chapter! 
> 
> Also, if you're having trouble visualizing a dress, my point of reference was the Fleur Du Mal dress from FarFetch.

The days pass quickly enough between the uptick in assignments that need to be graded as the end of the quarter approaches and the regularly occurring texts from Carol. They haven’t had time to see each other again, save for a few run ins at the coffee shop where they chat pleasantly and share bits of cookie. Another couple of times Maria has returned to her office to see sweet treats in shiny wrapping paper on her desk. The first time it happened she was disturbed, frantically texting Carol that someone must have come in through the window and been stalking her because she always locked her office door and now she’s scared to be in there and-

And that’s how she found out that Carol knows how to pick locks.

One small scolding later, she simply produced a key to the cozy room and (futilely, but it feels better than not) took to locking her cabinets instead.

She returns home one day to a larger-than-usual package on her front porch and a card with Carol’s distinctive, loopy but neat handwriting on the front of it.

Maria, it reads, put this on and be ready to go by 7:00 tonight.

Inside is a gorgeous red dress, much more daring and showy than anything she might have purchased for herself. She’s no doubt that the material - silk, an absent thought - is luxurious and expensive. Reaching beneath the tissue inside she also finds a bottle of lotion and a matching body wash. It’s pink and smells like cherries with a hint of vanilla and something else she can’t quite place. There’s no undergarments, thank goodness, and she wonders if it’s because Carol knows she’d just about die of embarrassment or if she doesn’t want to presume. Maria finds herself thinking that it’d be quite alright if she were to presume.

_To: Carol Danvers_   
_Please, presume._

She takes her haul upstairs to the master bathroom. The water pounding down on her from the showerhead is hot, almost scalding, and it soothes her anxiety about how she might look in this predetermined outfit. The red will pair well with her skin tone, she’s sure of it, but the dress is form-fitting and low cut and she can only hope she’ll look like she belongs on Carol’s arm. The body wash is thick and slightly shimmery, with high end sparkles that don’t stick to the bottom of her porcelain bath or her skin, and pairs surprisingly well with the mid-range conditioner she uses. No shampoo, of course. Natural hair doesn’t need it, and she’s grateful Carol didn’t try to buy her hair products. She lathers up twice, wanting her hair to be as soft as possible when Carol runs her fingers through it, hopefully grips it as she-

No, not there yet, not right now when she could get so distracted and has a limited amount of time to get ready.

She shaves carefully, going over each area to make herself as smooth as possible. She loves the feeling of her wet, hairless legs rubbing together under the water. It’s silly, but she feels a bit like a dolphin. She wonders if Carol shaves, finding that she doesn’t quite care either way.

She lets her hair air dry as she towels off and smooths the lotion over her skin, humming along to the soft sounds of her vinyl record spinning music into the air. It’s one of the luxuries she’ll afford herself, because the somewhat scratchy notes remind her of dancing in her grandmother’s kitchen while gumbo cooks on the stove.

Too soon, she’s slipping into the slinky red number and pulling on red heels from the depths of her closet. The two match suspiciously well and she wonders if Carol’s psychic or upped the ante on breaking and entering. Her final touches include golden hoop earrings, large enough to proclaim her background and probably too large for the no-doubt fancy place they’ll be going, but she’s feeling breezy and confident and can’t bring herself to care. It’s 6:55 and she’s carefully spritzing sealing spray on her face to lock in her makeup. It’s 6:57 and she’s grabbing a clutch from her handbag organizer, tossing in her phone, her wallet, an emergency fifty dollar bill, and a tube of lipstick.

It’s 7:00 and she hears a sharp knock on her door.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again everyone! This chapter is going to be the longest one yet, now that things are finally picking up. :) I'll probably actually cool it for a few days with the updates now that I've got the biggun out. 
> 
> If you've read my other work (Crescendo) you'll know I'm absolutely obsessed with this concerto. 
> 
> Tags at the end as always!

They’re speeding down the highway, windows cracked just an inch and modern noir is pouring from the speakers, drowning out the way they shout excitedly at each other, and Maria can’t help but think she hasn’t felt so carefree in years. This, right here, sitting next to the woman who looks every bit as gorgeous and put together in a sleek black pantsuit as Maria’d imagined, is some sort of heaven. All too soon they’re pulling up in front of a large concert hall; the exterior architecture is contemporary edges and silvery shine, glowing almost golden in the night lights lining the sidewalk, and the interior is just as breathtaking with its high ceilings and polished floors. Maria’s got one hand perched delicately on the inside of Carol’s elbow and feels very much like a kept woman. Some overly-independent part of her is indignant, but mostly she feels comfortable and cared for. Idly, she wonders how a psychologist can afford such luxuries but feels like it’s too soon to ask. 

 

Carol guides her down a seemingly endless number of winding hallways until they’re stepping into a large auditorium and walking down the angled steps to the very front. Similarly well dressed people are filing in behind them and Maria feels a fair bit of anxiety looking at the seats, close together and intimate, combined with the sheer number of people the room can hold: all of which will surely be looking at her, judging her, staring at Carol and wondering why someone who clearly used to this sort of thing would be caught with- 

 

“Stop,” a firm voice interrupts her internal tirade. Carol tilts her chin up in a way that’s becoming increasingly familiar until they’re seeing eye-to-eye and suddenly the rest of the room ceases to exist, “you look wonderful. You’re here because I want you, sweet girl, and the opinions of the masses don’t matter to me. What I mean to say, is fuck them. I just want us to enjoy this piece and to enjoy each other. Do you understand?”

 

“Yes,” Maria breathes and thinks, not for the first time, that she cannot wait to find out what she’ll end that sentence with in the future. 

 

“Yes what?” and there it is, the psychic quality Carol seems to possess. They’ve not talked about this yet, but they will, and Maria knows that she won’t be pushed. Not here, not now, not in this room full of strangers looking for their seats. She knows she’s being given a choice - she can end with a title of her preference, or she can end with an acknowledgement of her understanding, and either will be met with a pleased smile and perhaps a kiss.

 

“Yes Miss,” she murmurs quietly and lets out a small, shuddering exhale at the weight that’s been lifted from her shoulders.

 

“Good girl,” she hears distantly and she’s settling back into herself again, then into a seat on the end and smiling gratefully as Carol sinks into the only other seat near her. 

 

The concerto begins slowly, with a small explanation of the background behind the piece. Sibelius’ Violin Concerto in D Minor, and she’s never heard it but she can’t help but feel excited when Carol leans over to tell her that it’s a personal favorite. 

 

She’s being handed a glass of wine, crisp and sweet and white and cold, as conductor’s hands begin to move.The music is intense and soft all at once. She thinks of rolling thunderclouds and tumbling into bed, lightning and shrieks, slow patterings of rain across a windowpane and hot breaths on cool glass. She thinks this might make a good song for a death’s dance and imagines herself twirling endlessly with a ghoulish partner. She finds Carol’s thigh and traces the steps on it. Back, left, right, forward, right, left, and repeat. The beat isn’t perfect but it’ll do. A hand catches hers and she stills, looking up into the flushed face of her partner and realizing she’d climbed higher and inwards in her movements. She curls her fingers around Carol’s and wills herself to be still.

 

The heady wine has her swaying minutely as they enter the next concerto. She’s not drunk, not quite, but loose enough to enjoy herself without too many thoughts jumbling her actions. Carol herself has her head tilted back, eyes closed, a small smile on her face. Maria tests the position for herself and finds she quite likes it, though she makes a concession and allows her head to rest on a thin, fabric covered shoulder instead of her own backrest. 

 

They remain like this for the remaining bit of the concerto, until they’re jolted out of serenity by thundering applause that makes Maria think back to the first piece. She remembers the flashes of skin and tongue and teeth that’d entered her mind and crosses her legs where she sits. 

 

They don’t linger and mingle like some couples do, instead walking briskly but casually to the exit, then they’re in the car again and Maria is all affectionate brushes of her hands down Carol’s arms, sides, legs, any bit of her body she can claim access to. She wants, God, she wants, and she revels in what she can have. 

They wind up back at Carol’s place and they’ve never been here before but there’s no time to take in the building. Maria catches glimpses of water and fish near the middle of the walkway leading to the porch, then they’re falling through the door still grasping at each other.

 

“How far do you want to go?” Carol is gasping between kisses, regaining control of the situation and searching Maria’s eyes for hesitation, for anything less than enthusiastic consent.

 

“How far can we go?” 

 

“I won’t push you,” Carol says as she leans down to bite into the tender flesh between neck and collarbone, “I won’t do anything to bring you more than just-past-vanilla harm,” she murmurs into the abused flesh, “I want to see you trembling and wanton,” she’s licking over angry bite marks, “I will wait until we’ve talked, but right now, I will give you what you need with those constraints in place,” and she’s sinking her teeth into the exact same place they’d just been and gripping Maria’s hips tightly, urgently. 

 

She leans back and searches one more. Her lips stretch into a predatory grin when she finds nothing and she pushes gently at Maria’s shoulders.

 

“Kneel for me, sweet girl,” she coos but her words are full of promise and Maria needs, now, she isn’t sure what she needs but there is a ball of it coiling in her stomach with every word that falls from her lover’s lips. Maria feels her knees hitting plush fabric and wonders distantly when Carol had time to snatch a pillow from the couch without her noticing, and if she’d ever stop being so thoughtful. She stays this way, palms flat on her thighs, leaning into the feeling of gentle hands caressing her face. A sudden, firm grasp and tug on her hair has her looking up at Carol and moaning lowly. 

 

“Tell me what you want sweetheart.”

 

“Miss, I..” she trails off, unsure what she’s allowed to ask for, “touch me, please Miss.” 

 

“I want you to go upstairs and go into the first door on your right. On my dresser you’ll see a pair of handcuffs with a quick release, and a blindfold. You may choose one of them to play with tonight. Bring it with you to the bed and wait for me there, understood?”

 

“Yes Miss, thank you.”

 

Maria rises and scurries off to the bedroom as best she can in her heels. The objects are on the dresser, taunting her, and she desperately wants to choose both but decides she wants to be able to see everything tonight and goes with the handcuffs. She tests the quick release for herself, satisfied that it will open with ease even with her hands cuffed in an awkward position, and heads for the bed. She sits on the edge of the oversized mattress and removes her shoes, setting them neatly aside. On a whim she also tugs her dress up over her head, revealing a set of matching, lacy, red underthings. She folds the fabric neatly and places it on a nearby chair then sets her shoes on top of it, soles facing up so as to not ruin it. Feeling adequately prepared, she settles in the center of the bed, kneeling with her head bowed and the handcuffs clenched tightly before her. 

 

It’s a struggle not to tremble with anticipation when she finally - it seems as though a thousand years have passed with her waiting - hears footsteps in the hallway. She does not pick up her head to look at her budding Mistress but she doesn’t need to; the pleasured intake of breath and faltering between steps lets her know everything running through Carol’s mind as she enters. She closes her eyes and tracks Carol’s movements through the room, listening to her kick off her shoes and carefully place her pantsuit into a dry cleaning bag. Her imagination runs wild with images of how the glimpses of toned skin she’s caught will look fully bared, out in the open for her taking, and she has to reel herself back in when she feels the mattress dip beside her with Carol’s weight.

 

“Good girl,” Carol murmurs, and for a moment Maria allows herself to bask in the pleased flush that doesn’t seem to be able to fade, then her head is being yanked back by her hair and she’s yelping and groaning all at once, “but I didn’t tell you to get undressed, did I? You unwrapped my present for me, and I don’t think that’s very fair.”

 

“I-I’m sorry Miss, I only meant-” and the grip in her hair tightens. 

 

“I think you need to be punished, don’t you?”

 

“Yes Miss,” Maria sighs and her head falls forward when her hair is released, a delicious ache at the roots sending shivers down her spine. She drapes herself across Carol’s lap when prompted.

 

“Good girl,” Carol purrs. She rubs one hand over plush cheeks, fingers slipping briefly between the hem of Maria’s panties and her smooth skin. She trails her fingers down between toned legs, gentle nudging them apart, and running her fingers along silk-covered lips. She revels in the minute trembling of the body before her. “You’ll use the stop light system for today. Tomorrow we’ll go over personalized safewords. You’ll also keep count for me.” 

 

The first swat is light but it stings and Maria’d been expecting it to come much sooner than it did, she’d been lulled into a sense of false security. She jumps, more in surprise than pain. 

 

“One,” she says obediently and counts four more that come in rapid succession. Her cheeks are stinging and she’s squirming, searching for a bit of friction, when merciful hands reach back down between her legs and stroke her swollen clit through the fabric of her panties. Too soon those hands are back at her hips, one knee beneath her shifting so Carol can angle her to more easily tug her panties down to her knees. 

 

“Six,” she whimpers, and again, four more in rapid succession. She waits for reprieve but none comes. 

 

“Seven,” she gasps and the blows have gotten much harder than when they’d begun. She can’t help but reach back instinctively to catch the hand that raises again but Carol grabs her arm in time and twists them behind her back, holding them firmly in place at the small of it. 

 

“Eight,” and she’s truly whimpering now. Her cheeks are darkened at the center of impact and finally, hands which bring pain are caressing the abused flesh, so sensitive to the touch, and slipping down to sample her dripping wetness. She feels one finger probing at her entrance and Carol holds her too tightly to push back, but she can cant her bottom up eagerly. It slips inside slowly and easily but not deeply enough. She groans in frustration and tries futilely to push back, but Carol keeps teasing, never going past the first knuckle. Too soon, she’s empty again and it’s not long before her ass is stinging again with each new hit. 

 

She feels tears welling in her eyes and she aches with need. 

 

“One more sweet girl,” Carol says gently as she rubs small circles on her back. “Can you do that for me?”

 

“Yes Miss, please, I can do it,” she begs quietly and when the last strike hits she feels one single tear fall. “Thank you Miss, thank you,” she babbles as Carol lifts her up off of her lap. The high thread count sheets are soft beneath her but she still hisses as her burning ass makes contact with them. Carol swipes her thumbs under each eye and kisses the corner of each eye.

 

“Such a good girl,” she coos, “you take it so beautifully. You did a wonderful job. Are you ready to continue?”

 

“Yes, please Miss.”

 

Carol maneuvers her down onto her back and pulls her hands above her, looping the handcuffs through the slots of the headboard and cuffing each wrist. Finished, she gives an experimental tug and strokes down Maria’s arm lightly, pulling shivers and a tickled laugh from her. 

 

“What’s your color?”

 

“Green Miss, thank you,” and Maria really is thankful for the way that Carol handles her. Already she feels herself sinking into that wonderful place where no real-world worries can reach her. 

 

She feels careful hands cupping her breasts through her bra, pulling the flimsy cups down to reveal each perky mound. Her eyes have fallen closed of their own accord but she can sense Carol’s surprise as she takes in the shiny golden bars running through each hardened nipple. Her mouth falls open when Carol takes one dark nub into her mouth, alternating between suckling gently and more forcefully, rolling the other between experienced fingers. A thin line of saliva falls between her breasts when Carol moves to pay attention to the other one, her now free right hand slowly stroking down Maria’s toned stomach - and boy is she glad she’d never quite given up her morning exercise routine after being discharge - to her pubic mound, bypassing it in favor of caressing, squeezing, and raking her nails up and down the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs. 

 

It’s not long before Maria is moaning and pushing up into her touch, begging with all but her words to speed things up. It feels like she’s melting, her skin on fire and warm to the touch, the wetness between her legs steadily building and dripping onto the plush bedding beneath her. She tugs futilely at her restraints and arches her back, receiving a bite to the nipple for her efforts. 

 

“Please Miss, please touch me,” and she’s begging fully now. Carol brings two slender fingers to her lips and she parts them eagerly, tongue slipping out to wet them, working them hurriedly but thoroughly, then she’s groaning softly as she’s breached by both at once. It’s a bit of a stretch but she’s adequately prepared, and there’s no pain, only the wonderful fullness she’d been seeking. Carol leans back onto her heels and Maria wraps her legs loosely around her waist, keening and crying out when Carol brings her other hand to her swollen clit and begins rubbing expert circles on it. 

 

She’s crying out and arching fully when Carol adds a third finger, twisting them and pressing forward to massage that small spot inside her. Her thighs are trembling, curling toes pressed into the mattress as she forces herself back on those skillful fingers.

 

“Please Miss, I- can I-” and she’s coming apart when Carol nods her permission, body shaking and tears welling up in her eyes. It’s intense: too much and not enough all at once, and Carol fucks her through the waves of orgasm that wash over her, well into overstimulation, into her begging for more, for reprieve, for anything more or less that Carol can possibly give her. She can’t help but whine when she feels herself clenching helplessly around emptiness again and groans at the sight of Carol licking her essence off of her fingers. 

 

When Carol kisses her she can taste herself on her Mistress’ tongue and it forces another shudder through her.

 

“Let me, can I, please” and she knows she’s babbling but talking is hard in this state. 

 

“Beautiful girl,” Carol murmurs as she climbs up the bed to sling one leg over Maria’s face, hovering just above her tongue, and Maria can’t help but strain to try for a taste. 

 

“What’s your color?”

 

“Green, Miss,  _ please, _ ” and she’s stressing the last part because she’s desperate and frustrated when Carol only chuckles in response and tweaks one nipple.

 

“Patience sweet girl,” she coos. Maria whines, but it’s cut off when her lips finally make contact with Carol’s lower ones. She licks a warm, wet strip up the sensitive flesh and moans at the taste. She’s floating at this point, mind swimming in an ocean of pleasure and softness as she laps eagerly at Carol’s leaking slit. She loses herself in the task and seems to float away from her body. Distantly, she registers Carol shaking apart above her but it’s not until Carol is near smothering her as her hips buck and her thighs shake that she comes back into herself. She probes deeper with her tongue, wishing her hands were free so that she could press fingers inside her girlfriend, surely they were girlfriends now, and work her with her tongue at the same time. She settles for fucking her with her tongue, alternating between shallow thrusts and forcing herself in long and deep, taking her time to explore the spongy walls. She lavishes her affectionates on the sweet rosebud of flesh between her folds as Carol comes, breathing hard, blonde hair messy and falling into her now sweaty face.

 

“Good girl,” she pants repeatedly as she comes down, clutching Maria’s hair in one hand, the other still white-knuckling the headboard. Eventually, she’s calmed enough to remove the restraints from Maria’s wrists. The cuffs were lined on the inside and she doesn’t think they’ll chafe, but she massages thick, unscented lotion onto her submissive’s arms anyway. Maria, on the other hand, is draped languidly across her lap, the lids of her eyes heavy and she’s clearly miles away. 

 

“It’s amazing how much you’ve dropped with this simple non-scene,” Carol murmurs as she presses kisses into the skin of her wrists. Maria nods and mumbles something affirmative but not entirely discernable, bringing a small, bubbly laugh out of Carol’s belly. 

 

They lay together for some time, curled up, with Carol softly singing as Maria comes back to herself. When she does, she turns and presses her lips to Carol’s nose, then cheeks, then forehead, finally drifting back down to her lips.

 

“Thank you Miss,” she says sweetly, and kisses her once more. 

 

Their feet are tangled under the covers when they sleep.

 

* * *

 

The smell of cooking food and the rumbling of her stomach wakes Maria the following morning. She looks around the room in front of her, for the first time able to take in its appearance with a clear head instead of through a fog of lust and need. The bed she’s in is every bit as luxurious as she imagined, and matches perfectly with the cherry oak furniture in the rest of the room. It’s decorated in brilliant shades of red, blue, and gold, with star-shaped figurines and ornaments scattered throughout. On the nightstand closest to her is a small bundle of clothes, silky pajamas with contrast piping, and a pair of warm-looking fuzzy socks. She pulls them on and shuffles into the attached master bathroom, going through her morning routine with a smile on her face when she notes an unopened toothbrush and extra towel set out on the counter for her.

 

She pads down the stares happily and wraps her arms around her lover’s waist. Carol turns to press a chaste kiss to her forehead.

 

“How did you sleep?” she asks, voice bright and cheery and Maria’s, by contrast, is still a bit rough with sleep when she talks about her pleasant dream. 

 

They eat with gusto, having skipped any dinner last night, and only when their plates are cleared and they’ve stood in the kitchen washing and drying together do they broach the topic of each other.

 

“So, um, what are we now?” Maria blurts eloquently, making Carol pause with her tea raised halfway to her lips, and isn’t it sweet that she’d bought the exact brand of cream and tea and sweetener that Maria typically gets from Nick and Phil’s place.

 

“Well, I suppose we’d be girlfriends, but I think partner is a more mature word, if that’s amicable?”

 

“Oh, yes, that’s fine. Um.. As far as..” 

 

“Playing?” 

 

“Yes, I mean, I really liked what we did last night and I think you did too..” 

 

“But?”

 

“..But I’d like to go further, if that’s okay?”

 

“Well then sweetheart, I suppose we’d better negotiate,” and then Carol is producing kink checklists from beneath the coffee table and pulling out expensive looking gel pens. 

 

Maria swears that one day she’ll ask, but today will not be that day, not when the pen is gliding so smoothly across the paper and making her normally messy scrawl look that much neater and artistic. 

 

They’re silent for some time. The only sounds in the room are the chirping of birds, the sound of running water from the pond they’d passed last night, and the scratches of pens on paper. Maria tries valiantly to resist the urge to sneak a peek at Carol’s paper but eventually gives in, lower lip jutting out when she realizes that Carol has angled herself so she couldn’t possibly see. She gets her lip poked with the back of a pen for her troubles so she sits back and continues to pout as she fills out the rest of her sheet. They finish, and a quick glance at the two sheets reveal that, for all of their contrasting handwriting and levels of neatness, they look relatively compatible. 

 

“It seems like we’re both very big on impact play, knife play, restraints, light humiliation, forced orgasms, sensory play, and erotic asphyxiation. Could you define what you think of as light humiliation for me please sweetheart?”

 

“Well, um, I like to be called names. Like how you call me pet names but, y’know, humiliating.”

 

“Such as?”

 

Maria hesitates for a moment and tilts her head down before remembering the speech Carol’d given her what seemed like so long ago and looking back up into her lover’s eyes. She loves the way Carol’s face lights up with approval.

 

“I like to be called a slut, or a whore, or things like that. Just don’t say anything about my weight or any of my scars.”

 

“I can do that, do you mind if I make a not next to this?”

 

They continue down the list in that manner, one of them asking for clarification and the other answering in kind, until they reach their hesitancies. Maria is less comfortable answering these and squirms in her seat while she’s questioned, falling into the familiar role of submissive to help her manage. 

 

“Tell me, Maria, do you like to be pushed?” 

 

“Yes Miss, I do.”

 

“Good girl, thank you for answering. I see that you’ve marked stretching or using large objects as a hesitancy, would you like to be pushed there?”

 

“I-I think I might.. I’m not sure.”

 

“Imagine this: you’re laying face down on the bed, hands restrained above you, legs held in place by a spreader bar. I’m three fingers deep inside you but it’s not enough, I want to see you struggle, to watch your little hole stretch to accommodate more. Do you want to please me, pet, in this moment how do you feel?”

 

“I want to please you. I like a little pain.. I trust you. I want to try it. Can we try it first and then revisit it?”

“Of course we can, whenever you’re ready.”

 

“Well.. That was the last one before we hit the red zone, right? How about right now?”

 

Carol freezes, the ink beneath her hand puddling into a large circle as she stops writing abruptly. Her lips curl into a predatory smile and she nods, finishing her sentence with a loopy swirl and sitting back with all the grace and self-assuredness of the Domme Maria knows lies dormant within her.

 

“What’s your safe word, girl?” 

 

“Arabella.”

 

“Arabella  _ what _ ,” Carol hisses dangerously, promising a proper punishment for that infraction. 

 

“Arabella, Miss, I’m sorry. My safe word is Arabella.”

 

“Good girl, thank you for correcting. You’ll only receive five lashes for that, does that sound fair?”

 

“Yes Miss, thank you.”

 

“Good. And your non-verbal safe word?”   
  


Maria snaps her fingers three times, rapidly, then taps her foot three times, indicating two different choices to be chosen depending on what appendages are bound most tightly. 

 

“Good girl. Undress and wait for me on the bed. I’ll only be a moment.”

 

Maria heads up the stairs, heart racing, already on the edge of slipping down the cliffs edge of subspace.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dom/sub, praise kink, kink negotiations, light restraints, impact play


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pure filth. There's nothing else to it. 
> 
> Tags at the end.

Her skin feels overheated, like she’ll burn right through it, leaving it in tatters on the ground and expose her core bare for Carol to take, and Maria hurriedly strips off her clothes. She’s wet and aching already, pulsating in that way that’s become familiar since meeting the wonderful woman downstairs. She slowly runs a hand through her messy hair and makes the split-second decision to tie it up. She snatches an elastic hair tie from Carol’s desk and, knowing she’ll regret it later when her curls inevitable tangle around the thin fabric coating, tugs her hair into a smooth bun. She hopes that it’ll end up mussed, half up-half down, her scalp aching from hands fisted and tugging and guiding her lips to where they should be. 

 

She lays down on the bed flat on her stomach and figures she’d like to present herself as delightfully as possible. Ignoring the twinges of shyness and anxiety that twist her stomach she raises her hips off of the bed and arches her back, presenting the dripping mound between her spread legs. She takes to wiggling her hips slowly, invitingly, in small, canting circles as she crosses one wrist over the other and holds them above her head like an offering. Already her body is buzzing with anticipation and she tries to hold herself still but the minute shaking hopefully adds to her appeal. She wants so badly to be good, to feel those tear tracks which will inevitably make their way down her cheeks wiped away by a gentle thumb, and to be pushed and pushed until she falls into solid arms that carry her the rest of the way down, and she’s stuck in her head when the door opens so she doesn’t notice the way Carol freezes for a moment and watches those slender hips making small, teasing circles in the air.

 

She does, however, feel the hot tongue against her hole, against the wrong hole, teasing and licking and for God’s sake  _ sucking  _ at her like she’s some kind of rare dessert. 

 

“Miss I-” 

 

“Hush pet. You like this, don’t you?” and then there’s a finger pressing in against the sinful tongue that flicked against her as she spoke, “you’re a needy little slut, you just need to be filled don’t you?”

 

She trembles, whimpers, somehow managers to stutter out an affirmative as another finger plunges into her and it’s slick and sloppy but it still burns and she pushes back into it like it’ll bring her the answers to every question she’s ever had. Carol’s tongue works her hole, her own fingers, the delicate skin between her cheeks, between her two, her two, her two-

 

“Your fuckholes pet, tell me. Tell me where you want my fingers. Tell me what you want me to touch.”

 

“My pretty pink fuckhole Miss please, please Miss I need-” and there’s a finger in her pussy too now and it’s almost too much. She’s so close already and then she’s empty and soothing hands are stroking her thighs to calm her, and sticky lips are whispering sweet nothings into the skin of her legs.

 

“Soon sweet girl, soon. We’re just getting started.”

 

She feels cool metal against her ass, slowly working her open, pushing forward and pulling back and it almost feels like thrusting but it’s frustratingly deliberate. It’s a medium sized plug but it still stretches her enough to burn deliciously as it slides home and the base settles against her rim. Carol presses it even further with the palm of her hand, dragging tortured moans from the sub in front of her, before her hands slide back down to the dripping pink slit before her. Maria feels a warm tongue back against her again, and this time it’s cool and tingly and she thinks that some sort of mouthwash must have been used while she was lost in a haze of need. She’s rocking back into that tongue, begging and babbling for something to fill her, and she so desperately wants to please it almost hurts. It’s a bursting relief when Carol finally pushes two fingers forcefully into her, immediately burying them to the knuckle and Maria can’t help the shout that lurches up from the back of her throat. They’re thrusting haphazardly, occasionally striking the spot inside her that makes her tighten and lose her controlled pace, but definitely purposefully avoiding it at other times.

 

“Please Miss, another, I can take it,” and then Carol is slipping in another finger and scissoring them to make room. She feels very full but it’s surprisingly wonderful and she’s anxious about taking more but she’s dropping so hard she worries that she’ll pass out. She forces herself to breathe as they slide in and out of her, sometimes shallowly and sometimes the thrust so long she’s afraid they’ll slip out and pushes back in a panic. Her head is foggy at this point and nothing exists except these long, delicate fingers, and the panting sounds coming from Carol as she takes in the sight of the hole stretched around her hand as she rubs her own clit with her free hand. 

 

She feels a series of sharp pains and distantly realizes that Carol is marking the inside of her thighs with her teeth, biting and suckling and scraping her teeth down the sensitive flesh as she slowly pushes a fourth finger in. Maria is really struggling now, stomach rising and falling rapidly as her body struggles to accommodate the intrusion but it feels so intoxicating, so good, there’s so much inside her and it’s taking all of the space that her anxiety normally takes up.

 

“So good, good girl, you’re taking it so well for me. You were born to do this, your little holes have just been begging to be filled.”

 

“Yes, Miss, yes, please,” unsure what she’s begging for her but needing it all the same. 

 

Then she’s empty, and the anxiety is trying to reclaim its space but Carol’s voice halts it in its tracks as she whines and panics and tries to close her legs in protest but when had those ropes wound their way around her ankles and had she really been so out of it that she’d managed to miss the soft cords holding her in place? Her hands are still free but it’s not long before Carol returns with a frighteningly large dildo and another length of rope which she uses to bind Maria’s wrists once more to the headboard. Maria is staring at the intimidating phallic object before her and wondering how there will be space inside her for such a beast.

 

“Tell me your color pet.”

 

“Yellow Miss, yellow.”

 

“What is it sweet girl?” Carol coos as she sits down on the bed, effectively blocking the dildo from view but Maria can’t get it out of her head.

 

“I don’t know if I can do this, it’s too big and I don’t think there’s space, I don’t think I can do something that big I don’t know if I can stretch and-”

 

“Hush pet. You can do this. You’ll do this for me, you understand? Do you want to do this? Your fears are completely valid and I appreciate you sharing them, but do you still wish to try? There will be no penalty for saying no.”

 

Maria thinks for a long moment but ultimately nods slowly and is rewarded with a beautiful, bright, pleased smile that makes its way across Carol’s face. 

 

“Thank you for your honesty.  You’re such a good girl,” and then Carol is yanking her head back by her hair with one hand and picking up the dildo in the other. She brings it up to her lips and rubs the head along them. Obediently, Maria opens her mouth and stretches it wide to accommodate the large object, willing herself not to gag as it almost immediately probes the back of her throat and threatens to choke her. She feels tears slipping down her face with the effort of holding herself open for it, and her nose is running, and she’s sweating, but she’s never felt so beautiful in her life as she does when Carol slowly pulls the toy free and kisses the saliva from her lips. She sobs quietly as Carol goes back behind her and forces her hips back desperately. 

 

“Beg, slut.” Carol commands softly but it carries an unexpected weight and Maria immediately complies, rolling her hips back and trying to spread her legs wider.

 

“Please Miss, please fuck me with your big cock, I need to be filled, please stretch my holes for your pleasure,” and then the silicone head, drizzled with lube she hadn’t seen applied, is breaching her. Carol gives her time to adjust as the inches slip in slowly and Maria pants, half exertion and half pleasure, as her clit is rubbed. She can’t remember ever being this wet or this eager or this fucking full. 

 

The mushroom tip pulls at her rim and she clenches around it instinctively so it won’t pull out fully but then it’s being pushed back into her, further than before, and she can’t be sure that she’s not yelling at this point. She’s grateful that Carol doesn’t appear to have neighbors who live close enough to hear her because she definitely yells when the toy is suddenly buried to the hilt. Carol grinds her thumb against its suction base as she fumbles around for another object behind her, then she’s standing up from the bed - much to Maria’s vocal displeasure - and slipping into a harness. 

 

Some maneuvering later, she’s thrusting expertly into the wanton body beneath her, one hand rubbing steady, slippery circles on a throbbing, engorged clit, the other gripping slim hips to steady her as she slams home, and then the two of them are coming together with twin shouts and shaking bodies and trembling thighs and Carol is collapsing against Maria’s back. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dom/sub, consensual name-calling, stretching, object insertion


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I originally thought up this chapter it was going to be Maria having an anxiety attack and Carol using D/s dynamics to comfort her, but I wanted to make it clear that Dom(me)s need support too and also that BDSM doesn't solve everything
> 
> So here we have some angst, and some open and honest communication, in which the girls grow closer and their relationship evolves.
> 
> Also, to be clear, there is no ddlg/ageplay in this story, I just think "little one" is a cute nickname for a sub and I use it more to refer to the capitalization dynamics than anything like that. 
> 
> The song Maria sings is 
> 
> Tags at the bottom.

Carol jolts awake. It’s the middle of the night, the moonlight streaming from the windows makes shadowy figures, the same ones that haunt her dreams, on the walls of the bedroom that loom over her sleeping lover. She’s covered in sweat and it feels too much like the desert heat from her time abroad; she stumbles from the bed, tripping and tangled in the sheets and legs that wound themselves around her as she slept, like boa constrictors and too-tight straps on too-tight vests that chafe raw skin beneath shredded fabric. Her legs feel useless and heavy as she makes her way to the bathroom and falls, heaving, to her knees over the mockingly clean porcelain. She doesn’t feel clean, she feels filthy and dirty and exhausted, and ashamed that she’d felt confident enough to test fate with a beautiful, pure girl who gave her everything and in return received this husk of a woman, curled up in the middle of the night on the bathroom tiles. There are tears and snot and specks of vomit covering her face, smeared in the mess of her hair, causing her to choke as she sobs quietly into the toilet. 

 

Eventually she straightens, runs the back of her hand over her mouth with a grimace and a look of disgust, and strips off her sweat-soaked tank top and panties to step under the pounding water of the shower. It’s too hot, scalding her skin and stripping away her humanity with each droplet, until she feels worn out and empty. Her legs can’t seem to support her for more than thirty seconds before she’s falling to the shower floor and the cries that tear through her body are so all-encompassing that she doesn’t hear the bathroom door opening and closing gently. It’s not until she feels soft, warm hands on her shoulder and hears a sleepy but concerned voice cutting through her sobs that she even registers Maria’s presence in the steamy room.

 

She looks up at her from beneath wet lashes, then quickly turns her head away to hide the splotchy redness and obvious signs of crying. 

 

“I’m sorry I woke you,” she murmurs quietly and winces at the hoarseness of her voice.

 

“Never apologize for struggling,” Maria responds, somehow sounding as though she truly understands, and she turns Carol’s face back to her with a gentle grasp and push on her chin. 

 

She places a chaste kiss to her forehead and then Carol’s crying again, silently this time, with tears making her way down their cheeks, and Maria can feel her jaw tensing and working as she struggles not to let any sounds escape so she strips off her clothing quickly and climbs into the shower with her partner. Maria grabs a bottle of shampoo and squirts a generous amount into her heads, nudging Carol’s head back with the backs of them, and begins lathering her hair. She massages firmly and lovingly, skilled fingers working out the headache that will surely come, and rinsing bits of half-digested food from the ends. She repeats this process twice before picking up an equally expensive-looking bottle of conditioner and smoothing it down the freshly washed strands.

 

“I did three tours before I was medically discharged,” she begins conversationally, as if they were discussing the weather, and she feels Carol stiffen beneath her so she fills cupped hands with water and uses them to rinse her hair until Carol is relaxed again before she continues, “PTSD,” she says and makes a small face at the diagnosis, “and an anxiety disorder as a result of it. It’s why I’m so fussy about things like my tea. I like to be in control, but I- I also like to give up that control sometimes, when I feel safe, and you make me feel safe. You’re not alone here, not ever sweetheart, and I want you to be able to come to me. You never have to be ashamed of crying or having nightmares. I’m in this for the long haul.”

 

They sit in silence for a while after Maria’s confession. The only sounds in the bathroom are the soft glide of soapy hands over Carol’s skin, of the lather washing down the drain, of Maria helping her to stand and lean against the shower walls so she can wash her lower half. 

 

“I also did three tours,” Carol says, and Maria barely pauses in her ministrations which emboldens her, “and they sent me home after I was a POW for several weeks. I had a concussion and a broken ankle, and so many bruises and scrapes it wasn’t funny. I was sleep deprived and the men who took me they-” she breaks off in a sob. “They took- I didn’t want to.. When I finally got back I was just so angry. I felt so out of control, and so angry that they took that from me. Then they discharged me and sent me to therapy and I just.. Couldn’t. For the longest time I was recalcitrant and uncooperative and probably a fucking nightmare to deal with. Then, one day, I discovered this way of finding control again and I began to heal. I mean, the dominance didn’t heal me, but it did give me what I needed to be able to go to therapy and have it work. I’m very grateful for my mentor for that. I still have nights like this but they’re.. Less often. I’m just sorry you had to see it.”

 

“I’m not, and I hope you would feel the same way if it were me in this situation,” and she kisses these words into Carol’s skin as if she could sear them there to act as a reminder. 

 

Maria rinses Carol carefully then helps them out of the shower and kneels on the bath mat beneath their feet. She places both hands on her thighs, palms down, and breathes in deep. She bows her head and asks sweetly, quietly:

 

“Let me help you Miss. Not sex- I mean, unless you need- please let me take care of you.”

 

Carol inhales sharply and lets it out slowly, trembling before this beautiful girl, this thoughtful girl who offers so much of herself, and swears that she’ll make herself worthy.

 

“Sweet girl.. So thoughtful. Dry me off pet, then dry yourself.”

 

Maria sets to work, removing a plush towel from the rack where they’re neatly folded, and dries her way slowly up Carol’s legs, her torso, focusing on crevices and creases, on flat planes of a toned stomach and the dip of her collarbone. She dries herself just as slowly, carefully, treating herself and her Mistress as prized possessions. 

 

“Choose a lotion scent, they’re in the medicine cabinet, then join me in the bedroom. You’re going to give me a massage then I’m going to give you one. Is that understood little one?” 

 

Maria nods, turns, opens the cabinet, looks over her options and takes down a cherry blossom scented lotion. She upturns the bottle and tests it on her skin, satisfied with the thickness of the product and closes the cabinet with a quiet click. She joins Carol on the remade bed and gently nudges her onto her stomach. The lotion is creamy, its scent permeating the air, creating a soothing atmosphere and Maria hums lightly, under her breath, eventually transitioning into full song:

 

_ With a feeling, from up here, I do surrender . . .  _

 

And Carol sinks into the feeling of soft, strong hands massaging the stress out of her muscles, into her own personal concert, until she feels boneless and lifted from herself. She moans quietly as Maria finishes with sweeping strokes across her back and somehow finds it in herself to turn her head and pucker her lips, receiving a sweet kiss for her efforts. 

 

Maria climbs off of the small of her back and Carol misses the weight but she’s ready to get her hands on that wonderful flesh, on the wonderful woman who ends her song with whispered words of affection in a language Carol doesn’t understand but the tone is unmistakable. She lays down slowly and Carol begins in much the same manner that Maria’d ended, until Maria, too, is boneless and lifted. 

 

Then she’s trailing her fingers and hands up her inner thighs, allowing space and time for rejection, waiting instead for the consent she receives in the form of spreading legs and an encouraging whimper. Wetness coats her fingers when they glide lightly, almost-not-there, over Maria’s heated and sensitive clit. She rubs small circles on the pink nub, pulling more sweet sounds from her sub. 

 

“Miss,” Maria breathes and cants her hips up, back, pleading for more, until Carol slips a solitary finger inside her and lets out a moan of her own at the feeling of hot, tight walls encompassing her digit. She can’t help but lean down for a taste, getting comfortable with her ankles crossed and in the air as she licks and nips and suckles at the delicious folds between her lips. 

 

It’s not long before she’s gasping and begging, and Carol is smirking and blowing cool air on her fiery skin, and Maria is writhing and opening and closing hands whose wrists that are caught in Carol’s grip.

 

It’s not long before she’s coming, pushing back against the tongue delving deep inside her and muffling her cries in the pillow until Carol whispers against her skin, “Let me hear you sweet one,” and she’s crying out with her face turned to the side instead. 

 

It’s not long before they’re crawling under the covers together, wrapped in each others arms and murmuring sweet nothings to each other.

 

It’s not long before they’re asleep, but it is a long time until morning, until they awaken again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massage as foreplay, d/s dynamics, light mention of rape/non-con (if you want to avoid this skip the paragraph beginning with "I also did three tours," Carol says..)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No notes for this one, it's purely soft and fluffy and gay. A shorter one, but we love girlfriends getting to be happy together.
> 
> One more big event before we start winding down. I can't believe we're getting there already! 
> 
> Am also rewriting these last few chapters because I had a better idea, so I might update a bit more slowly than I have been.

Maria wakes up to a fluffy lump on her face. She’s not surprised to be waking up like this, not necessarily, not when Monica’s favorite position seems to be sprawled across her chest on lazy Sunday mornings with her tail tickling her owner’s nose, but she’s not at home. And she didn’t know Carol had a cat. 

 

Carefully, so as not to disturb her sleeping partner she disentangles their limbs and lifts the slim animal from her nose, removing herself long enough to relieve herself and brush her teeth. Upon return she cradles the cat in her arms, getting a grumpy, half-hearted swipe in return, and creeps down the kitchen. She’s almost positive that she won’t be able to make as good a breakfast spread as Carol but if she can make anything, it’s a mean batch of pancakes and bacon. She sets to work chopping bananas and lightly greasing pans and the familiar routine, even in an unfamiliar environment, soothes her; the lightness of her limbs from the massage last night is a definite bonus. Occasionally she drops bits of cooked bacon to the furry monster nipping at her toes, and thinks he’d look rather cute with a small chubby tummy.

 

The smell of food must have roused Carol because as she’s plating up the dishes and adding sprinkles of powdered sugar to the plates, she hears the slow padding of bare feet down the hall. She smiles fondly as Carol walks in, eyes still bleary with sleep, and picks up her cat. Maria meets Carol halfway, pushing a cup of strong coffee into her hands and standing on her toes to kiss her forehead sweetly, then gives her a small push towards the table. 

 

They eat slowly, avoiding the conversation last night by unspoken agreement, but Maria doesn’t feel as if this is a step back, as if they’re hiding or embarrassed -- she rather feels that they’re closer than before, and taking this time to appreciate the morning and each other instead of dwelling on the pains of the past. 

 

“I see you’ve met Goose,” Carol finally says when she’s halfway through a cup of coffee and talking through a mouthful of pancake “and these pancakes are fucking delicious. How did you make them?”

 

“It’s my mama’s recipe,” Maria replies shyly, “you mix in cinnamon and syrup with the batter then you cook them and add powdered sugar and butter to the top.” 

 

“You’re a wonderful cook, sweet girl, I love them.”

 

“Thank you Miss.”

 

“Is that comfortable for you, calling me Miss outside of scenes? I want to know what you prefer.”

 

“I like non-sexual power dynamics as well as sexual ones.. Just not when I have to be put together and professional, y’know? Other than that I really like it, but I mean, I can stop if you don’t like it-it’s not that big of a deal.”

 

“Hush, little one, it’s fine with me. I think it’s cute and I like that you feel comfortable addressing me that way outside of our scenes, like you know I won’t make it sexual when it’s not meant to be.”

 

Maria blushes and picks their plates up, carrying them to the sink. She washes them carefully, mindful of the fact that one plate probably costs as much as her entire cabinet contents, and Carol comes over to help dry them and put them away. They make a good team, she thinks, and she looks forward to the day that she comes home to a beautiful, warm home with two closets filled with the clothes of two women, these two women, and Carol writes while Maria grades. It’s soon, far too soon to have these thoughts, but pleasant nonetheless. 

 

“How do you feel about a dinner party?” 

 

“A what?”

 

“I’d love to have a dinner party. I could cook, and you’re welcome to help of course, but I think it’d be nice to have your friends over if you’re agreeable. I’ve been monopolizing your time and I know you’ve been busy, so it’s been a few weeks since you’ve seen them by my calculations. I in no way want to distance you from your friends, but I’ll admit that I’m a bit selfish and still want to see you.”

 

“I would love that Miss! Could we have it here? You have such a nice dining room!” Maria chatters excitedly now that she’s accepted the idea, she wants her desperately for her small but close group of friends to accept this new woman into her life, and she thinks Carol might be a bit lonely. It’s unclear whether she knows anyone in the area except a couple of acquaintances she’s mentioned from traveling around and giving talks. 

 

“How does next week sound, maybe Saturday? We’ll have been seeing each other for a month at that point, so that’ll be a nice treat.”

 

“That sounds perfect. Would you mind helping me make the invitations?” Maria asks shyly.

 

“How about we take a trip to the craft store right now and grab the supplies. I’m not the most creative person in the world but I’ll do my best for you sweet one,” and Carol finds herself wrapped in a tight hug by a bouncing, excitable young woman as she finishes her sentence. She wonders if she’s ever seen Maria so lit-up and thinks she rather likes the excitement radiating off of her. Figuring that planning and executing things for the one she loves must give her some degree of satisfaction, she vows to think of more ways to allow her girlfriend to get this type of energy out. 

 

Happiness looks rather good on her.

 

* * *

  
  


They walk to the craft store because the day is nice, swinging their hands between them and chattering happily.

 

“You seem the type to send formal invitations through the mail, I’m not sure what it is. Maybe it’s the house,” Maria teases lightly.

 

“Oh, I definitely am, but I’m also the type to have someone do them for me. Luckily, I have such a creative girl to help me out this time,” Carol teases back, enjoying the light blush dusting Maria’s cheeks. 

 

Maria is practically bouncing on her feet as they enter the small, luxury crafts shop near Carol’s home. They grab a gold-tinted, of course it’s gold-tinted, hand basket and Carol would love to say that they strolled slowly down the aisles, carefully examining things before setting them gently in the cart, but Maria is a whirlwind of chaotic energy: loud and unrefined in a way Carol has never seen from her before, and hopes to see from her many more times.

 

“I used to want to be an artist,” she murmurs quietly as she stares reverently down at two packs of colored pencils “but I had to make money, you know? We grew up poor and there was no time for silly dreams like that, but it was my dream.. Eventually, I managed to find a way to make it a hobby. I still sketch, you know, and I paint.”

 

“I know it’s not the same as seeing them in person, but do you have any you could show me from your phone?”

 

Maria pulls out her phone and flips quickly to an album full of pictures of her work, hands it to Carol and waits anxiously, trying to pull of a casual stance of cool disinterest and failing miserably. Carol keeps her jaw from dropping, but only just barely, as she takes in wonderful, detailed drawings of the city around them, of cats and dogs playing together on a familiar stretch of grass, of her own sleeping quarter profile. 

 

“This is amazing,” she says as she leans in to kiss her girlfriend’s forehead, handing her back the phone, “you’re going to make beautiful invitations. I only wish I had an ounce of your talent. You must see things so clearly, so deeply, to be able to capture them in that way.”

 

“You really think so?” Maria asks shyly. 

 

“I do. I love them. I would love to see you at work sometime,” and with all of their supplies gathered they make their way to the front of the store. Carol casually pulls out her wallet when Maria goes to pay and hip checks her out of the way, receiving an elbow-jab to the rib for her efforts. The two women leave the store giggling, arms full of their purchases. 

 

“Being a PoW does have its benefits. I’ve got a lot of US government money to play the stock market with.”

 

And just like that Maria’s questions are answered. 

 

She can’t help but let out an internal sigh of relief; she’d known somewhere in the back of her head that Carol was no smuggler, no secret mafia member, but she couldn’t help but wonder anyway. 

 

This woman is perfect, it seems, and Maria is beginning to think that perhaps she deserves this small bit of happiness she’s discovered.

 

With any luck her friends will feel the same way, because she thinks she wants to keep this one.

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, I cannot WAIT to post the next chapter because lord..
> 
> Also yes I like fruit in my salads, @ me if u want to 
> 
> Tags at the end

The time of the dinner party comes quickly, preceding by days of making invitations, mornings of lazy kisses and not returning to their respective houses, the morning of with hands kneading cranberry almond dough. The menu has been planned for weeks, sweet and light and everything Maria had imagined for her first official dinner party, everything to satisfy her - and Tony’s -  sweet tooth, and they work steadily side by side as if they’d been doing it for years instead of hours. 

 

Carol shoos her an hour before their guests are set to arrive, assuring her that they will switch in time and both will have time to get themselves, and the food, ready. Maria disappears into their bedroom, and when did it become  _ their  _ bedroom, and runs her fingers over the outfit that had been laid out for her after they’d showered that morning. She loves this, this relinquishment of control over even the smallest things. She applies more lotion, liberally coating her legs with the thick substance, and notes that it’s Carol’s favorite with a small smile. The slinky pink dress she slips into is perfect; it hugs her curves tightly but not so much that it’s obscene, and the cowl neck dips to the top of soft, supple breasts that have been pushed up by a matching lingerie set beneath it. This was her choice, this small surprise that she’ll offer as a token of her gratefulness, presenting herself as a gift eager to be unwrapped. She slides her feet into kitten heeled sandals that complement her outfit and twirls slowly in the full length mirror available to the right of the vanity. The makeup she applies is classic and retro, a sharp cat eye paired with a bold red lip, hair left wild and uncombed from her shower, unruly curls held in place by only a pink and white polka dotted bandana. She ties it with a flourish and leaves the room with a bounce in her step.

 

“Beautiful,” a voice too-close to her ear murmurs and suddenly she’s face to face with her lover who's clearly been waiting outside the door to bombard her. Her personal space is crowded as she’s forced against the wall, but Carol takes care not to smear her makeup - thank God for setting spray - as she leads her in a wet, demanding kiss. She’ll never admit it, but Maria full on squeaks and tightens her hold around her partner’s neck when she’s lifted by strong hands placed just under her bottom; she wraps her legs around Carol’s waist and relinquishes her hold long enough to hike up her skirt with one hand. They kiss forcefully, passionately, disinhibited and Maria feels drunk off of the affection until she’s sinking slowly down into a familiar headspace. 

 

She’s teetering on the edge of subspace when Carol pulls back and runs one thumb across slick, kiss-swollen lips and pushes it past them, drawing out a moan from Maria. 

 

“I have a present for you,” Carol whispers and brandishes a small object with a pink gem at its heart shaped end. She twirls the plug and smiles softly, “can I open you up sweetheart? Can you wear this for me tonight?”

 

“Yes Miss,” Maria says and with only slight reluctance lets herself be lowered. She turns when prompted, bracing against the wall on her forearms, shivering when she feels the gentle, loving caress of fingers against her backside. 

 

“Oh, little one, these are so pretty. I can’t wait to take them off,” Carol groans lowly as she lowers Maria’s panties and kicks her legs a bit wider with the sides of her foot. She parts Maria’s cheeks with one hand and, again producing objects from seemingly nowhere, drizzles lube down her crack. Maria inhales sharply at the cold liquid and tenses when the first finger probes gently at her entrance. Carol rubs small circles on her back until she’s relaxed, until she’s taking that first digit inside, until she’s moaning and pressing back and begging for another. The second and third enter with much less resistance, probing and thrusting and spreading her until she feels cool silicone at her entrance. She can’t help but whine as it slides home and Carol removes her hands. 

 

“Thank you Miss,” she gasps as Carol pulls her panties back up and adjusts her skirt. She’s just brushing off imaginary dust when the toy inside her begins to vibrate and her knees buckle, then suddenly she’s kneeling at Carol’s feet and looking up at her with a playfully betrayed look.

 

“I’ll keep this with me tonight,” Carol says with an evil chuckle as she brandishes a small pink remote, “and you’ll tell me your color discreetly when I ask. Is that clear?”

 

“Yes Miss,” she says, trying and failing to keep the shaking out of her voice.

 

“Good girl. If you need to call yellow, I expect that you’ll find a quiet place to calm yourself. Do you want me to stop the vibrations if you call yellow?” 

 

“N-no, you don’t have to.. Just give me a minute to collect myself, please Miss? I can take it, I really can.” 

 

“Mm.. good girl, so willing and hungry for it, my little slut. Now, please go plate the salads now while I get ready. The others should be here any second.”

 

“Yes Miss,” Maria says and she’s standing on unsteady feet to make her way down the hallway, thankful for the classical music playing softly through the home speaker system to cover the quiet buzzing that abruptly stops when she reaches the kitchen, as if Carol could sense her movements. Damnit, she probably could, the fucking witch.

 

She’s just finishing the salads when she hears the door opening and the pouring in of excited voicing. Carol greets each guest with care, introducing herself, and explaining where Maria is. Once the guests are seated around the table she leaves to help in the kitchen, and together the two walk out with trays full of aesthetically pleasing salads, appropriately chosen to pair with the bottles of wine sitting on ice on the table.

 

“A fresh spring mix from my garden, with dried raspberries, blue cheese, candied pecans, mandarin oranges, and sunflower seeds, tossed in a light raspberry and asian pear vinaigrette. All Maria’s idea, so be sure to keep in mind that she’s to blame if you don’t like it,” Carol says playfully as they deliver plates. 

 

Maria sticks her tongue out in response and Bucky looks like he approves. 

 

They dig in after a quick pause for Steve and Bucky to say grace, and talk flows smoothly. Carol is questioned by the trio of over-protective boyfriends who swoop in to protect, unnecessarily, it’s assured, Maria’s dignity. Carol answers with laughter and kindness and jokes that make Maria blush and Nick groan. 

 

“I never needed to know what Maria’s like in bed,” he gags as he takes a sip of water as if to cleanse his palette of his disgust. 

 

“I did,” Tony shoots back and hits the two women with an overly suggestive wink, receiving twin, fond glares from his boyfriend in response. “No one appreciates my efforts,” he sulks as he sinks back into his seat.

 

They continue through the main course - rosemary brined buttermilk fried chicken with oven-baked sweet potato fries and honey-bacon brussels sprouts - and carry their dessert fruit platters out onto the back patio.  

 

Maria is deep into a conversation with Bucky when she halts in the middle of her sentence, choking out an excuse as the vibrations begin anew; she’s sure she’s dripping at this point, what with the off and on vibrations during dinner. He raises one all-knowing eyebrow and his lips curl into a small smirk, but he says nothing and they continue to discuss plans for gardening in the coming spring. 

 

“What color flowers do you think would look best out there by the treeline?” Carol interrupts smoothly, giving Maria a meaningful glance. 

 

“I think I like yellow tulips best,” she says, and excuses herself to the restroom soon after. 

 

She all but sprints to the master bedroom, closing the door as quietly and with as much self-control as she can must as the vibrations intensify. She makes her way on wobbly legs to the bed and sits, rubbing her knees together as if it’ll stop what’s going on between her thighs. Finally, she strips off her panties and lays back on the bed, sliding the straps down on her dress and bra to reveal smooth breasts and hardened nipples. She knows she’ll be punished for touching herself later but she can’t help it, it’s too much, the vibrations and the knowing look Carol throws her way, the stretch and burn of the plug inside her for too much time, the sweet delicious pain of shifting the wrong way and suddenly becoming aware that it’s there. Her fingers slide down to part the lips of her pussy, quickly becoming slick with her own juices, and the other hand comes up to roll one pert nipple between her fingers. She groans softly as she skips any stretching and thrusts two fingers inside herself, back arching off the bed. 

 

The door opens. 

 

She freezes. 

 

Carol is standing in the doorway, remote in hand, legs crossed at the ankle, leaning casually against the wood as it shuts with a loud click in the quiet room. The vibrations have stopped. 

 

“What have we here,” she says and Maria shivers as the demanding tone of voice rolls over her skin and commands her to answer.

 

“M-miss please I-” 

 

“Oh, no, you’ll continue. You’ll continue and I’ll watch, and we’ll talk about this later. Give me a show little one.”

 

Maria pauses for a long moment, and for a second she wonders if she’ll try to safeword out of this, out of this anxiety-inducing situation that causes her cheeks to burn with shame and arousal, and its coiled deep in her gut but she can’t seem to bring herself to want to release it.

 

She spreads trembling legs wider and pushes her fingers back up inside herself, bringing her other hand down to rub small, frantic circles onto her clit. The vibrations begin again, and she’s moaning loud enough that Carol crosses the room in a few large strides to cover her mouth with hers, swallowing each sound gratefully, and Maria is shaking even though it feels like she’s just begun. Too soon she’s arching fully up off of the bed and all but yelling as her orgasm rips through her. She’s oversensitive and whimpering but somewhere along the line Carol’s hand had covered her own and she’s being forced to continue rubbing herself, until tears are threatening to spill from her eyes and each new rotation brings about a spike of pained-pleasure that pulls heady sounds from her throat. 

 

Carol removes her hand and brings Maria’s up to her mouth, prompting her to lick her own juices off of her fingers. Maria sucks at them dutifully as Carol pulls her panties back up but makes no move to remove the plug. 

 

“I want you back here the second our last guest leaves. On your hands and knees, back down, ass up in the air. You will wait here, in that position, regardless of how long it takes me to clean up. I’ll show you what happens to little sluts who don’t ask permission, is that understood?”

 

“Yes Miss,” Maria gasps as she struggles to collect air back into her lungs, and then Carol is gone. 

 

Maria rises from the bed, smoothes the wrinkles from her dress, sprays perfume on her wrists and inner thighs to disguise the scent of sex, and leaves the room with her head held high.

 

She socializes beautifully through the rest of the night, almost able to ignore the stop-starting of vibrations that occurs at seemingly random times, even managing to walk the last guest to the door as it pulses on what must surely be its strongest setting. She can read Carol’s intent in the settings she chooses and a chill runs down her spine when she thinks of the night she’s in for. 

 

When the last guest has gone she goes back to the master bedroom, strips, and assumes the position she’d been instructed to hold. 

 

She waits. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Masturbation, voyeurism, anal plug, mentions of punishment, D/s


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I resisted posting for all of.. three hours.
> 
> This chapter is 3k words of fucking filth. Tags at the end.

Maria is on the bed, face pushed into the covers, thighs trembling with exertion as they struggle to hold her up. Sweat pools at the small of her back and drips down towards her shoulder blades, accelerated by the deep arch she’s settled into. The vibration is too much and not enough at the same time, and she aches, ache that’s settled into her bones at this point, to be touched or talked to or anything to ease the pressure coiling in her stomach. Her moaning, panting, sighs are uncontrollable at this point, and she’s pretty sure she’s drooling onto the sheets beneath her but can’t bring herself to care. Hands fisted in the spread of covers beneath her, she keens and whines desperately, knowing that Carol can’t hear her and wouldn’t have mercy even if she could. 

 

It’s enough pleasure that she’s resting on the edge of a second orgasm but can’t force herself over the edge and refuses to push her hips down or move her hands to force herself over, just on the off chance that Carol walks in at that time, catches her a second time, but she can’t even catch her breath at this point. 

 

She hears the door open and nearly sobs with relief before remembering this is a punishment, and what is coming is likely to be worse by leaps and bounds, and the thought has her clenching tightly around the toy in a heady mixture of trepidation and arousal.

 

“Good girl,” Carol coos as she walks, heels clacking against the floor, to the edge of the bed, “what a beautiful girl I have. A sweet little slut. Are you trying to show me that you know how to listen?” and then she’s pressing two fingers against the plug to force it in deeper and Maria is gasping and arching, unable to answer. 

 

“Answer me, slut. I don’t like to be kept waiting.”

 

“Yes Miss, please!” she pleads; she’s not quite sure what for, but God, she  _ needs. _

 

“You know that you need to be punished, don’t you?”

 

“Yes, yes Miss, I need to be punished.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because I touched myself without your permission,” and she’s sobbing into the sheets now as Carol works a finger in alongside the plug, stretching her beyond what she thought possible. 

 

“No, that’s not what you did. You touched my property,” Carol growls dangerously. Her voice is rough, like whiskey and leather and bars they might’ve gone to if they were ten years younger, but it’s velvety with possessiveness and Maria is now well and truly into subspace, falling into the possession of this dangerous woman with her viper’s tongue, “you touched something I own without my permission. You are mine.” She punctuates each of the last words with a harsh thrust of two fingers now, two fingers reaching and probing for what? She’s not sure. 

 

“You’re going to take my hand, then my belt, then my whip. Don’t worry about counting, just take it, and don't’ stifle anything or I’ll add more. Does that sound fair to you little one?”

 

“Yes Miss, thank you, thank you Miss,” Maria babbles. 

 

Carol pulls her fingers free and Maria hardly has time to mourn their loss when the first blow hits, the cracking sound reverberating off of the otherwise silent room, and it seemed as though they weren’t starting off slow because her body almost flew forward with pain and shock. She held it together through three more swats, panting quietly and inhaling sharply with each rocking hit. 

 

The fourth struck the sensitive skin where her bottom met her thighs and she cried out, keening, wailing sound that continued through four more that landed with precision in rapid succession. The ninth had tears falling down her cheeks, and by ten she was openly crying. Carol rubbed a hand soothingly over her reddened cheeks, thumb slipping between her legs to probe at her lower entrance, swirling in the juices of her leaking slit. It slips inside her with ease; she pushes back against it, taking her pleasure amidst her quiet crying, and Carol lets her fuck herself on her finger until she’s calmed enough to speak. 

 

“You’re doing so good sweet girl. Your cunt looks so pretty between these red cheeks. It’ll look even better after my belt. Are you ready little one?”

 

“Yes, yes ma’am. Please. Please give it to me Miss.”

 

Carol walks slowly to the closet and pulls down a smooth, uncreased leather belt. She’d bought it new and saved it for a special occasion, the material fresh and sure to burn where it struck. With a small, sadistic smile she looped it around her hand and pulled the strap tight, laughing softly under her breath at the way her sub jumped and trembled but subtly shifted her legs open wider. 

 

She wrapped one arm around Maria’s torso in preparation to support her when she inevitably fell forward and her free arm came down with the first blow. As expected, her submissive’s body pitched forward and her back arched up with back but she held her, taking in every straining muscle in Maria’s back and thighs as she struggled with the white-hot pain of the strap. 

 

“Thank you Miss,” she whimpered as tears gathered in her eyes once more and Carol’s eyes softened enough to show her the affection she so yearned for. 

 

“What’s your color sweet one,” she murmured into the untouched flesh of Maria’s back as she rubbed lightly over the reddened skin of her ass.

 

“Green Miss, thank you, thank you, please, please I need-” and she was interrupted by the second, the third, the fourth swings of Carol’s arm. 

 

“Your pretty cunt needs to be touched too, doesn’t it?” and she hadn’t time to answer before the blinding pain landed horizontally over the middle of her pulsating mound, and her thighs were crowding together over their own accord as if to stop the seventh strike that landed in the same place. Carol dropped the belt on the bed, and pushed two fingers into her needy hole. The thrust of her fingers calmed Maria to some extent, had her rocking her hips back against them, until her legs were once again spread and her nipples were hard against the bed. Carol removed her fingers after some time, right when she felt herself closer to tumbling over the edge of bliss, and brought them to her lips for cleaning. 

 

She sucked like her life depended on it, tongue darting out between digits to lick her own essence off of them. The thin trail of saliva that traveled down the corner of her lips made her feel filthy and wanton and fucked out, moreso when Carol leaned down to run her own tongue opposite its path and kiss it back into her mouth. 

 

She flinched and adjusted her stance when Carol picked up the belt again, soothingly reminding her that she only needed take three more, and cried out when the first two cracked directly over the plug still vibrating inside of her. The tenth again landed on that landscape of pink flesh that hit the edge of the chair when she was sitting, then the belt was hitting the floor and Carol’s face was buried between her legs.

 

She could feel the vibrations of Carol’s own moaning, paired with the mechanical vibrations of the toy, and the probing feel of fingers poised at her entrance but not quite dipping inside, and it felt like she was going crazy. 

 

“Your color,” Carol said roughly when she finally came up for air, lips swollen and sticky with her efforts. 

 

“Green,” Maria barely managed to gasp out as her Mistress went to retrieve the final item. 

 

She felt the ends of the whip tickle over her spine as Carol flexed her shoulder, prepared for the necessary motions. The first hit wasn’t as much of a surprise as with the previous tools, and they quickly fell into a rhythm. A rocking, sobbing, crying rhythm that had Maria begging to be fucked, touched, hit harder, or anything to give her more of the stimulation she needed to push her over the edge. 

 

Carol ignored her, continuing her ministrations as if her babbling sub wasn’t making a single noise, until on count ten she dropped the whip and gathered the crying woman into her arms. She situated Maria between her legs and let her back sag against the wall, rubbing Maria’s shoulders and inner thighs soothingly until her sobs became quieter, more manageable, and she was but hiccupping with her face turned into Carol’s shoulder.

 

With two fingers under Maria’s chin, Carol turned her so that their lips met and was met with little resistance. She kissed her gently but deeply, demanding control but waiting instead of taking.

 

“Your color,” she prompted quietly against Maria’s lips, smiling when she received the ‘green’ she was looking for.

 

“Please..” Maria whimpered as she strained against Carol’s tightening hold, begging for anything that could be given to her. She was deep at this point, having fallen off the cliff into the cavern some time ago, and all that existed in her mind was this space: these four walls, this large bed, the throbbing in her cunt, and the growing awareness that her Mistress was still clothed. She undressed Carol with trembling hands, taking her time to suck, kiss, nip, bite bruises and marks into the skin as each inch of it was unveiled. Soon, she was taking one pink nipple into her mouth, switching haphazardly between the two of them as though she couldn’t decide who needed her affections more, enjoying the needy moans of her Mistress above her. 

 

She snaked one hand down to rub at Carol’s clit, enjoying the way she pulsed and twitched beneath her until she was being lifted - and fuck if that wasn’t hot - and thrown back on her back. Carol reached over to the nightstand and grabbed a wand style vibrator, immediately turning it onto one of the higher settings. She settled it between their two clits and ground their hips together, forcing them into a harsh, quick rhythm of sweat-slick skin against skin. They trembled together, gasping into each others mouths, chest bouncing and rubbing together and heightening their awareness of their bumping hips, until just before they were falling they were stuck at the edge. Carol’d ripped the vibrator away from them, chest heaving with the effort of not chasing her orgasm, and tossed it back onto the bed. 

 

She ran her hands reverently up and down Maria’s sides until they’d both calmed, until Maria’s sobs of simultaneous over- and under- stimulation were quieted, until the only audible sounds in the room were the buzzing of the plug still inside of her and their harsh panting. She fisted one hand in her lover’s hair and dragged her in for another kiss, teeth clashing and tearing at each other’s skin, and Maria’s hands were pushing her away and pulling her in for more at the same time, nails digging into her shoulders and her back. 

 

“Miss please, I need, please, I just want.”

 

“You’ll get what I give you, you needy whore. Do you understand?” as she wrapped one slender hand around Maria’s neck and pushed her back onto her back, onto the bed, onto the soft mattress that was entirely opposite her hard, demanding demeanor at the moment. She squeezed the air from her lover, setting up a gentle but firm rhythm of pressing and releasing her throat, her hands sure to leave marks but that would fade in hours instead of days. Maria, for her trouble, sucked in lungfuls of air when she could, kicked her legs beneath Carol’s powerful body and struggled futilely under her grip when she couldn’t. Her vision blurred, with tears and with lack of oxygen, and then she could breathe again, could focus on sucking in air instead of the throbbing mound between her legs and the throbbing column of her neck. 

 

“I’m going to stretch you again. I’m going to give you what I want you to take and you’re going to accept it, because you’re mine. Your body is mine, your cunt mine to do what I want with, and you love that don’t you little one? You love that I can take you like this, force you into submission,” and her hands were tightening and releasing with each sentence and Maria was struggling but nodding along, lips forming silent pleas for more, for less, for anything to please her owner. 

 

Carol started with two fingers, roughly scissoring them to make room for a third, then a fourth, then she was liberally coating a large toy - larger than the one from before - with thick lube and drizzling it onto the fingers just barely breaching Maria’s cunt before forcing them back in and spreading the slippery liquid everywhere. Maria moaned and made fists in the sheets, curled her toes and dug her heels into the fabric of the covers as the large, phallic object breached her. She breathed through the insertion of the stiff silicone head, forced herself to relax enough to accept the first five inches, before she began to struggle again as it steadily bore into her. Inches six and seven were easy enough, the slick in and out of it as it slowly dug its way deeper inside her, but eight was difficult and nine was a downright task. She reached up to tangle one hand in Carol’s loose, wavy strands, tugging at it as she surpassed nine and went to ten, went to the base of the toy, took it all the way to its heavy plastic scrotum and pressed it deeper as if it could lengthen at her will. 

 

Maria cried out repeatedly, babbling incoherently but occasionally making sounds that could qualify as “please” or “more” and spreading her legs wider to accommodate the seemingly-endless girth of the toy. Carol groaned as she watched Maria stretch around the toy, watched her struggle with its large size, with its length, with its width, but watched her conquer herself to take it all. She thrust it lazily, then with greater passion, into her lover and watched her come apart as she began to rub her clit. She forced her through the trembling, shaking, body-wracking shakes of her orgasm, watching her tighten and loosen rhythmically around the toy inside of her, desperately wishing she had another arm so that she might slip her fingers in beside the plug and fill her completely. When the stimulation became too much, became too painful, she removed the toy slowly but continued to rub her through overstimulation until tears were falling again down her cheeks, and Carol leaned up to lick the salty liquid off of her chin. 

 

Then she was swinging one leg over Maria’s head and lowering her own dripping cunt to her lips, moaning and grasping at her own nipples as she rode quickly, roughly, chasing her own orgasm, using Maria’s tongue as a mere tool to get her there. It seemed like only seconds passed before her own body was shaking apart, before she was gasping as Maria slipped two fingers into her and another into her ass, before she was struggling to decide between grinding and the desperate up-and-down riding of the digits inside her, before she was absently thinking that she might trust this woman enough to bottom for her sometime. 

* * *

Later, they sat, rather than stood, under the pounding water of the shower, just holding each other and petting reddened, abused skin reverently. Carol rocked Maria in her arms slowly, whispering endearing nothings, praising her for taking so much, so much, for so long, all night, in fact, and telling her what a good girl she was. Maria soaked it up, hardly able to talk she was so deep, happy that she could do something to please her Mistress so. 

 

Carol dried them off with plush towels she flung into the corner afterwards, figuring there would be plenty of time to clean up later; plenty of time when Maria wasn’t mewling and sweet and clinging to her with such cuteness that she couldn’t resist indulging herself in picking her up bridal style and carrying her to the bed.

 

They crawled under the covers together and lay, Maria’s head on Carol’s chest, both naked but worn out and comfortable and unwilling to put on clothes, Carol still whispering to her submissive with a sort of awe at how strong she was, how much she was willing to, able to, take. 

 

They drifted slowly into sleep, legs tangled, hair damp on the pillowcases below them, noses touching and fingers splayed on each other’s hips.

 

They loved quietly, they loved obviously, they loved without a word passing their lips. 

 

They slept. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Punishment, stretching, name-calling, anal plugs, impact play, biting


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter this time, just furthering the story. 
> 
> We only have two chapters left, 12 and 13, before 14 which is the epilogue. I can't believe we're almost done! 
> 
> Side note: there should be a tag "having a romantic partner doesn't cure mental illness so please go see a fucking professional."
> 
> Tags at the end!

“We should move in together,” Carol says one morning, absently, as she combs her fingers through Maria’s loose curls. She looks slowly around the room that, in the few months after the dinner party, has slowly become filled with items from the both of them. She smiles fondly as she takes in the extra cat bed that never gets used because their sweet pets like to sleep together at the foot of their bed, the flat iron on the dresser, the hideous gray jumpsuit that Maria insists on wearing while she works around the house hanging over the closet door.

 

“Alright,” she hears from her side and jumps, startled, because she’d thought that Maria was still asleep. She softens and grins down at her lover, she who nestles even more comfortably into her side and closes her eyes like she didn’t just turn Carol’s entire world upside down.

 

“Alright,” she agrees, and that’s the end of that matter.

 

They move in together at the end of the month and it seems pretty fitting that they spend their six month anniversary giggling on the floor, covered in cat toys and kitten kisses, because Monica and Goose have spent the entire day underfoot and supervising the entire ordeal.

 

* * *

  
  


_ To: Carol Danvers _

_ I have a surprise for you <3  _

 

_ From: Carol Danvers _

_ What a coincidence, I have one for you too. I can’t wait to see what it is sweet girl. <3  _

 

“Okay, on the count of three we can come out and show each other. Okay?” and Maria is bouncing a little bit on her toes, hair swaying with her movements, because she can’t help but be excited. It’s been years since she’s done this after all.

 

“Yes little one.”

 

Maria squeezes Carol’s hand from around the corner in time with her counting, thinking it’s wonderfully reminiscent of wedding photos that she’s seen on Pinterest, thinking that she wants to marry this glorious woman, thinking that the anxiety she feels about such a decision is unfounded, thinking and thinking and suddenly the numbers are spilling from her lips and she’s stepping out from around the corner on autopilot, listening to the sound of Carol’s gasp mingling with her own, dragging her back to the present.

 

“Oh, little one, we are going to have so much fun with this,” and they’ve traded places now. Carol with her short, choppy hair, spiky at the top and faded on the sides. Carol, with her hand wrapped tightly in Maria’s now long, braided hair, pulling at the usagi-pigtails at the corners. The medium length box braids frame her face, making her look ever more youthful and sweet, while Carol’s new hair accentuates her squared jawline, making her look more dangerous and aggressive. Carol, with her low, suggestive voice and Maria sinking with the feeling of tugging at her scalp. 

 

Carol, walking Maria backwards until her back hits the wall, and the two of them kissing, panting, tugging at clothing and hair and skin until they move together as one, until they’re tumbling to the floor in a tangle of tight-wrapped limbs and coming together and undone all at once. 

 

* * *

  
  


“I want a kid someday,” Maria announces one day, seemingly out of the blue. They’re seated at the dinner table and Carol stops, fork halfway to her mouth and pasta slipping from its prongs, to adjust to this new topic. Maria is fidgeting, head down so far her chin almost touches her chest, hair falling forward and obscuring her face but Carol knows her well enough to practically feel her worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. 

 

She rises from her chair and walks slowly over to her anxiety-ridden lover, movements purposeful and careful, choreographed as if she were a deer that might spook. She gathers Maria up in a strong hug and breathes in her scent, kissing her neck. She uses two fingers hooked under her chin to make the woman turn her head and look at her, searching her eyes for insincerity about the status of their relationship, for the buried shame at using this to make her stay, but finds love and pure, wholesome, longing. 

 

“Thank you for telling me sweet one. May I have some time to think about it?”

 

“Y-yes.” 

 

And like that the topic is shelved for a later time. They go back to dinner, but this time Carol sits next to her instead of across, and scoots her chair close enough that she can rub the back of Maria’s hand reassuringly with her thumb as they eat.

 

* * *

 

Maria is on her knees again, shaking, tear-stained cheeks moving with her jaw as she works it open. She cries, but no sound comes out, she cries, but Carol is relentless. She’s being petted, gently, too gently, far more gently than anything she, a beast, a monster, a creature of silence and sound and too much, could deserve. She shakes apart and wishes she were anywhere else, anywhere except under the touch of this handsome woman she does not deserve, forced to stay and watch as she falls deeper into the pit of despair she can’t seem to crawl out of. 

 

Later, she will revisit these emotions. She’ll revisit them in this woman’s arms, in the comfortable softness of their bedroom, and she’ll revisit them in the overly-plush chair in the overly-soothing office of a no-nonsense woman who doesn’t seem like she appreciates the overly-comfortable atmosphere any more than Maria does. 

 

Maria likes her, she thinks, so she continues to go in secret, until they’re laying in bed one evening and she can’t help it anymore. 

 

“I’ve been going to therapy,” she says, and the thousand-watt grin she receives feels like she’s won the lottery. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Panic attack, light mentions of hair-pulling


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I couldn't figure out Maria's birthday so I instead based the jewel off of her costume as Spectrum. :) 
> 
> Edit - it has been brought to my attention that I am a fool, MONICA not MARIA was Spectrum. Carry on. <3 
> 
> The song is Ache by FKA Twigs. 
> 
> Tags at the end.

Carpet: soft and plush at first look but tough, capable of leaving imprints on the knees and calves, a bit itchy, worthy of squirming and shifting to relieve pressure. Temperature: chilly to the point of goosebumps, but they crop up on overly heated, already reddened skin, long hair igniting newly placed marks, fireplace crackling in the small room but the heat comes from the inside. Breathing: shallow but calm, restricted, the feeling of rope biting into the skin of the chest, chafing, memories of cream being rubbed into marks and soothing words from a soft, husky voice. Wet: slick, slide, thighs sticky when they part, salty sweat and something sweeter, rough tongue lapping at the skin. Tongue: pierced, healing, formerly swollen and sore, a single drop of blood running down the chin, needle held firmly in place; similar needles that now, three weeks later, puncture hardened nubs, no blood this time, but that hadn’t stopped rough tongues from soft licks and soft licks turning into careful, painful suckling, eyes wide open against inky darkness, unseeing but open nonetheless. 

 

Maria, blindfolded, aware of every sensation, of the aching in her knees, of the slow passing of time marked only by the ticking of a grand clock she knows is in the corner behind her, tongue lolling around fingers in her mouth, fingers that occasionally dip down and circle nipples that threaten to soften around the silver metal through them, fingers that travel lower but never quite reach the fire between her legs.

 

Fingers.

 

She tries to focus on them, on pushing every bit of sexual prowess she’s ever learned or developed into skillful flicks of her tongue, grazes of her teeth, the hollowing of her cheeks and the way saliva drips from the corner of her mouth but Carol makes no move to wipe it up, preferring her sloppy and dripping and knowing that she’d meet blown-wide pupil if she took the blindfold off and looked into Maria’s eyes. 

 

She doesn’t. 

 

Carol removes her fingers, wipes them on Maria’s cheek, smearing spit on soft skin and tangling them in long braids as she moves. She smiles, satisfaction, when she hears a keening, whining sound. She knows Maria is deep, knows she’s where she wants her for this next bit. She walks slowly out of the room, down the hall, around the counter, through a doorway, and swears it takes almost forever until she reaches the dresser drawers in the master bedroom. The vanity, instead, she veers off-course and realizes with a bit of a start that she’s nervous, that she hasn’t been this nervous about a sub in years, scratch that, perhaps never. 

 

She falters. She keeps moving. She knows this is the right decision. 

  
  
  
  


She opens the top drawer and there it is, sitting on a plush pillow like the one she’d not afforded to Maria, preferring instead to watch her struggle to kneel for ten, for fifteen, for twenty, for how many minutes has it been since she lost count and instead daydreamed about a soft voice singing to her as slender fingers card through her hair:

 

_ And I fall / Into your breathing / I inhale all you speak / When I'm sleeping / In my rise I'll be giving / All the things that I hide / When I'm feeling you _

 

She aches, she does, much like the chorus of the song she’s heard so many times as she falls asleep, like the song she longs to hear again at this moment and she has half a mind to march Maria in here, to make her kneel on the floor, unseeing and unsuspecting, as Carol dances around picking up the small but weighty leather object, as she wonders about wrapping it around a long, elegant neck, as she steps back and removes the blindfold and wonders what she’ll see.

 

She doesn’t. 

 

She picks up the collar, she holds it carefully in two hands, she turns it slowly and stares reverently at the beautifully crafted leather, looks into the eye of the white jewel centered in the band and if it catches the light of the lamp just right she can see specks of black and silver. It’s perfect. It’s a spectrum of beauty, it pulses and breathes and lives, but it’s silent and unmoving and it doesn’t seem to judge her as tears slip down her cheeks. 

 

She leaves the room carrying the pillow.

 

She strides down the hall back to the sitting room, back to her lover who doesn’t seem to have moved, back to that which will make or break her and she wonders when she’d become so sentimental and when she’d become so willing to bare her soul, her heart, and realizes distantly that she knows exactly when and why and how and what and anything else she might need to know to second-guess this decision.

 

There’s no second guessing because she’s kneeling. She’s kneeling on carpet that is soft and plush and doesn’t hurt her knees at all, and the burning, churning in her gut seems to extend to her skin, and her mouth is dry and her tongue suddenly feels several times too large, too thick, and she hears Maria’s breath quicken when she recognizes Carol’s return and it grounds her.

 

“I have a surprise for you,” she says, and she swallows heavily. 

 

“Thank you Miss,” Maria says, beautifully, and Carol feels tears welling up again. She wonders if she’ll be able to keep it together no matter the outcome.

 

“Tilt your head up for me pretty girl,” she murmurs, and sounds nervous even to her own ears.

 

Maria complies, and her mouth falls open into a silent ‘O’ when she feels the clasp being fastened behind her head, beneath her hair, on top of heated skin that somehow feels cool to Carol’s touch. She feels her own tears welling up behind the blindfold, she stammers, she wonders, she asks:

 

“Miss, w-what,” she stammers, she reaches her hands up, permission ignored but granted all the same, and gently grabs the leather around her neck.

 

“May I untie you little one?” and Carol’s voice sounds stronger now, but it still shakes, and her hands tremble when she reaches behind Maria’s head to untie her hair, and the motions seem opposite what she’d just done.

 

She’d just done.

 

She’d just collared her lover.

 

“Do you want to see?” she asks and she feels almost like she’s going to explode because Maria has only been fingering the collar, hasn’t said anything, hasn’t even looked at her, but she sees tears in big brown eyes when she grips Maria’s hand, pulls her up, runs her thumb over spit-stained cheeks and tucks a stray braid behind her ear.

 

They walk over to the mirror together.

 

“It’s beautiful, Miss, thank you so much,” she hears distantly and then she’s crashing into her sub like waves on a beach, pulling her up and into her arms, spinning her in a way she’d only thought feasible in cheap romance movies. They stay that way, sobbing and holding one another, deep into the night.

 

Maria doesn’t take it off until they’re panting, afterwards, lost in a haze of dizzy pleasure and labored breaths. She grips the study material tight when she arches off the bed and  _ ah/ah/ah/ah, you/you/you/you, _ and doesn’t loosen her grip until sleep takes her, and she falls under holding Carol’s hand instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heavy Dom/sub, collaring, wet and messy, kneeling, tongue piercing, nipple piercing


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is folks, the last actual chapter of the fic. Chapter 14 will be the epilogue.
> 
> The song mentioned is Do I Wanna Know? by Artic Monkeys, and is, unsurprisingly, where the name of the fic comes from. This fic grew out of the idea of Bucky/Steve/Tony all owning a bar and I can't help but headcannon that Bucky loves AM. I might write a follow-up fic for that pair, with Carol/Maria making guest appearances. Who knows? 
> 
> Side note, I also just realized that my writing tends to begin in past-tense and end in present tense, as if you're being brought up to speed with what's happening. Let's pretend that's on purpose and that my seventh grade English teacher isn't cringing as we speak. 
> 
> Anyway, tags at the end as usual.

They’d recreated their first meeting for this: spending the evening laughing and talking in the plush booths of SHIELD, and Carol had cooed her appreciation and approval when Maria went out of her way to order a different drink, sit somewhere else, and only hesitated once when she’d finally flung her bag down into the seat across from her beaming partner. Carol, for her part, also made the effort to choose something out of the ordinary for her and had plucked a book of poetry off of the shelves to read aloud should anything go awry. They’d been fine, however, fine enough that they’d stayed long after the last dregs of coffee had been drained from their cups, enough that Phil himself had to shoo them out so he could close, all white teeth and crows-eyes at the sight of his two favorite customers. He’d sent them packing with a small bag of pastries, extracting a promise that they’d save them for after their nightly proclivities.

 

They’d recreated the drive, taking the long way back with the windows down and the music blaring from the high-end speakers they’d chosen to re-outfit the car with some weeks ago. They’d played their special song, the dirty, bluesy rock that they’d heard from Bucky at the bar and sang along in sultry voices, laughing when they didn’t quite hit the notes. 

 

They’d all but floated home, riding a cloud of happiness and affection down the highway, through the half-lit streets of nearby neighborhoods, climbing higher and setting themselves up to fall: fall, they did, when they reached the front door, onto a hard ground of pent-up desire and attraction, free to remember and notice toned thighs peeking out from a slit in a skirt, cleavage dragging eyes downward then back up again with a sheepish smile, painted toes sticking out of open shoes, hair falling over bare shoulders doing nothing to conceal near-faded bite marks.

 

They’d stumbled through the door, and it was almost like their first night all over again, desperate and panting and wanton and quick. This was a first, the first scene with Maria collared from the moment they’d left the house though she’d received her gift months ago, the first evening they’d been out since their informal ceremony where she’d purposefully paired her expensive blouse to match the jewel on her neck, the first evening Carol had been unable to keep her eyes from straying below Maria’s perfectly plump lips to look at her marks, physical and metaphorical, the first evening Maria had been anxious to leave and worried someone would see - would judge - but relaxed throughout the night as they received nothing but passing, appreciative glances, as beautiful women would. This was an important first; this first would be slow and trying, not lacking in desperation but in rush, their most difficult scene to date. Maria'd begged and pleaded and pushed and prodded until Carol’d given in and they’d run to the store together, giggles and love-drunk playful punches, and walked up and down the aisles with only one hand free to point out potential purchases. They’d left with arms full and Maria’d batted Carol away, out of the room, when she’d changed that night as if it would be a surprise what Carol’d find under her clothing. 

 

They’d parted reluctantly and only when Carol whispered her directions, smooth and dirty, against Maria’s kiss-swollen lips and gave her a gentle push towards the door leading downstairs. She’d tugged her tie loose with one hand as she strolled into the kitchen, filled a glass with perfectly cut ice cubes and poured warm whiskey over it. She followed downstairs, drink in hand, running one hand through tousled blonde hair and almost wishing it were long enough to tie back. She took a sip, a moment to appreciate the smooth burn traveling down her throat, and a glance at her kneeling partner on the playroom’s soft flooring. She walked slowly, steps purposefully rolling from the clack of her heels to the muted press of the ball of her foot, circling her prey and sipping slowly, taking care not to finish more than a quarter of the glass. 

 

“How much have you had to drink” she asked lowly, kneeling to look her submissive in the eye.

 

“Just one drink Miss, a glass of wine.” 

 

“Good girl,” and she kissed Maria with abandon, tongues sliding together, sharing the smoky drink between them. They’d tangoed for some time, one of Carol’s hands twisted in Maria’s long hair to hold her in place, the other pressing her crossed wrists to the ground as if she’d try to move from under the intoxicating presence of her whiskey-tinged lover. Maria drank in black, fire water from Carol’s lips and moaned in the language of guns and steel when blood from her now-bitten lips dripped between them, trailing slowly down the side of her neck to the points of her breasts. 

 

Carol took another sip, took care to hold the ice cubes in her mouth, and set the glass aside before sucking a hard, red mark onto Maria’s skin, pushing the ice against the aching imprint to sooth the pain. She repeated the procedure until water from the melted ice mingled with the blood on Maria’s breast, dripped down her shoulder onto her back, her arm, the floor beneath her and disappeared into the oblivion beneath them.

 

“Your safeword,” she bit into Maria’s skin, testing the flesh and threatening to break through its seductive barriers to release the liquid flowing underneath. 

 

“Aces,” she gasps, and Carol bites through fully this time. She savors the word, the flavor of it dripping across her tongue, and the sweet sound of the cry above her as the pain registers in Maria’s mind and she arches up away from it, away from Carol’s hands which hold her in place and force her to work through it until she’s whimpering and Carol herself is lapping up the rusty liquid leaking from the new wound. 

 

“You’re so sweet,” Carol whispers dangerously, “I want to tear it out of you. I want all of your tenderness,” she murmurs into the flesh of Maria’s shoulder and savors, again, the feeling of trembling beneath her lips. “No one can hear you tonight,” she whispers in a voice as pure as fresh snow beneath virgin wedding dresses, “you’re all mine,” it’s a promise more than a statement and then she’s biting again, not drawing blood but focusing on bruising the underlying tissue; Maria is crying out again, and most of her trembling is arousal but there’s an undercurrent of fear there, and sometimes she wonders if she’ll ever know Carol’s danger outside of this controlled situation.

 

She pulls Maria across her lap using her grip on her hair and smoothes her hands over the unmarked skin of her buttocks tenderly, tickling the tips of her fingers and short nails over the delicate flesh. She hits once, twice, hard and quick and grips Maria’s wrists tightly to keep her from moving her hands to protect herself.

 

“Sweetheart, this is just a warm up,” she purrs, filthy and ominous, and brings her hand down three more times in rapid succession. The sixth hit is lighter, catching Maria off guard, but the seventh returns with just as much heat as its predecessors. Maria is squirming and wet by the tenth, by the time Carol finally acknowledges her choice of lingerie as she drips droplets of ice water onto her flaming skin, the sting of the alcohol getting into the light scratches from Carol’s ring. 

 

“Such pretty lace. A pretty outfit for a pretty little girl,” she coos as she holds ice to Maria’s stinging cheeks, laughing lightly as Maria gasped and struggled to get away from the contrasting, overwhelming sensations, “for my pretty slut,” she finishes and removes all sensation too quickly, leaving Maria limp and floating draped over her lap. 

 

“Stand beneath the ring in the ceiling dear one. Stretch your arms above your head and wait for me. Do as I say now.”

 

“Yes Miss,” Maria murmurs and stands on shaky legs, ignoring the need to take a moment to adjust the slipping straps of her bodysuit, to make her way over. She looks at the ring in the ceiling, freshly installed, and remembers having to drop everything and shove her hands down the front of her pants. She remembers making her way on similarly unsteady legs to their bedroom as she rubs her stiff nipples through the thin, cotton fabric of Carol’s old t-shirt, and collapsing onto their bed with reckless abandon, not even bothering to kick off her jeans. She remembers edging for the third time that morning and snapping a photo of her sticky fingers, of her tongue between them licking them clean, of her flushed cheeks and blown pupils, and sending it to Carol at work and the heady pleasure she’d felt when she’d received a ‘good girl,’ in response. She remembers that she still hasn’t come since then as she stretches her arms above her head, crossed delicately at the wrist, and bows her head to look down at the floor. 

 

It might be seconds, minutes, or hours before she sees the pointed toes of Carol’s shoes appear in her vision and she feels cuffs clamping around her wrists, distantly hears whispered words of encouragement and loving check-ins as they prepare for the most intense part of their planned scene. She’s not necessarily wholly aware of her answers but they must be satisfying enough because she feels her back forced into an arch as she’s pulled taut and onto the tips of her toes, the strain in her shoulders reminding her just how much weight she’s holding on them instead of her feet. She chants  _ green, green, green, _ completely unprompted and finds that she’s near tears at the thought of Carol stopping when she’s finally getting what she needs. The stretch and pull and burn and ache is delicious, and only the snap of a beaded whip brings her out of her reverie with a scream. 

 

The second stripe is no less painful than the first, and the third occurs after such a long petting-and-cooing filled pause that Maria almost has time to wonder if Carol’d changed her mind, if she would be the one to safeword out of this, but it hits smartly across her upper thighs and she knows that sitting will be difficult for days, if not weeks. Four and five are not surprising but that doesn’t distract from the stinging, cracking, all-encompassing pain that whites out her vision as the whip hits its target. Carol swings twice more and then Maria is falling, suddenly, hard onto her knees and babbling as she hits the ground.

 

“Thank you Miss,” she cries, and she can taste her tears flowing freely and pooling at the corners of her mouth as she speaks, “thank you,” and her hands are shaking as she brings them up to wipe at her eyes but she’s stopped, and calloused thumbs replace her own. They wipe the tears from her cheeks and force themselves into her mouth, rubbing circles onto her tongue and choking her with their probing intensity. She gags around them, eyes watering further, and looks up into Carol’s eyes desperately. 

 

“Thank you,” she says again when she can finally speak, coughing and near incoherent in her haze of pleasure. Carol yanks her head back once more and looks into her eyes for a moment, perhaps thinking about what to do next, perhaps gauging her ability to continue, but it must not matter what she’s thinking about because the next thing Maria knows her cheek, one of the same that’d been touched so tenderly, is stinging and she’s suddenly looking off to the side.

 

“Good girl,” Carol coos and hits her again for good measure, licking over the affected area and rubbing it gently to soothe the pain, “you want to be so good for me don’t you?”

 

“Yes Miss, please, yes, I’ll do anything, please,” she stammers out as Carol pulls and tweaks at her nipples through her bodice. 

 

“Let me use that pretty whore tongue. You know how to use it, don't you?” 

 

Maria nods obediently, eagerly, opening her mouth wide and sticking her tongue out. Carol pets over it with two of her fingers and nods appreciatively.

 

“Good girl, go lay on the table for me, on your back. Knees up, legs spread.”

 

Maria hardly manages to squeak out an affirmative before Carol is slapping at her behind to get her moving faster: she scrambles up onto the table, preemptively raising her arms above her head and spreading her legs as ordered. 

 

“You’re going to make me cum using only your tongue. If you cum before I do I’m going to punish you, do you understand?”

 

Maria opens her mouth to speak but her words turn to moans as she feels two spit-slicked fingers probing at her entrance, scissoring and making room for she’s not sure what, but she doesn’t dare raise her head to find out. They continue working in and out of her until she’s pushing back against them and pleading for more; too soon she’s empty and restless, head floating and she’s falling further back under, and the only thing on her mind being pleasurable for Carol. She feels a larger, phallic object sliding into her and it draws those heady sounds out of her but she aches for the taste of her lover, needing more than her own pleasure in this moment. She feels her body jolt when vibrations begin to shake through her from her clit and it’s low-level, not quite enough to force her to concentrate to not tip over the edge but she knows if it goes on long enough she’ll be struggling to keep her task in mind. It already feels almost too-good and she pants through her arms being secured to the table beneath her. She tests her bonds, pulling and pushing up, away from the steadily pumping dildo and out from under the vibrating bullet toy but she’s secured tightly, she can’t move, and she whines when she hears Carol laughing at her from above. 

 

“I told you you’re mine tonight, I’m going to use you how I see fit and you’re going to love it, isn’t that right dear one?” but she doesn’t give Maria time to answer before she’s swinging one leg over the side of her head and kneeling, her dripping bud scant millimeters from Maria’s waiting tongue. It feels like hours before she lowers herself and the musky, almost-sweet flavor explodes on Maria’s tongue, then she’s grinding and rolling her hips. She chases her pleasure with only a passing heed for Maria’s need to breathe, occasionally letting up and allowing her to gasp for breath and for more before she’s lowering herself again. 

 

“Good girl, so good for me, so willing for me,” she pants as she feels herself getting closer and she loves cheating, she really does, so she thumbs the vibrator’s setting up two notches and relishes in the jolting, trembling body beneath her. This game they play, they both know Maria will end up punished for her transgressions at the end of this, and they’d not have it any other way, she figures. 

 

“Miss!” Maria exclaims, muffled in her folds, and Carol chuckles knowing they’re both close and it’s a game of chance now, whose body will give in first. Or, it would be a game of chance if Carol didn’t hold the remote in her hand, so she thumbs it up once more and knows she’s won when she hears a stifled scream and feels teeth scraping against her clit. She hisses, half in pain half in pleasure, before she, too, is coming with a cry of her own. She continues riding languidly until she’s oversensitive, knowing Maria must be too but making no moves to release her from the toy’s clutches, though she does turn it down a notch to keep her from passing out. 

 

“Miss please-” she begins when Carol finally moves and she can speak, but Carol hushes her with one hand sealed tight over her mouth and brings the other down on one pert breast; Maria screams, the sound enveloped by the skin-to-skin barrier and swallowed back down, then the same mound is being hit again, again, and then the other. 

 

“You’ve been a bad girl, you don’t know how to listen, you’re just a little slut who can’t control herself, isn’t that right?” 

 

“Yes Miss,” Maria sobs as Carol takes one abused nipple between her teeth, pulling and biting at it harder than is strictly pleasurable. Her entire body feels like one exposed nerve at this point, and the stinging in her breasts from the slapping they’d received should be soothed by the cool air Carol gently blows on them, but it feels like icy needles digging into her flesh. Carol brings her hand up to hit them again and she feels tears leaking from beneath her squeezed-shut eyelids. The vibrator is still going and she feels herself being forced towards another, more painful, orgasm when Carol takes her nipples back into her mouth. She coos soft words of encouragement and praise mingling with insults and threats she doesn’t really mean and Maria is spinning out of control, mind confused and torn and it feels like a knife is twisting in her gut but she’s crying out in pleasure all the same. 

 

When her orgasm finally overtakes her she cries, loud and unabashed, half with pain and half with relief, as Carol kisses her through it, swallows her keening sobs and pets her head gently. She blubbers softly as Carol gently works the dildo out of her, removes the vibrator from her clit, and releases her from her bonds. She’s still crying when Carol helps her to sit up and seats herself behind her, back against the wall, and pulls her into her lap to rub cream onto her wrists where they’ve begin to chafe from being restrained. They stay like this for some time, until Maria is no longer floating in subspace, but can form complete and coherent sentences, and sip at the juice Carol’d procured from the mini fridge in the corner, and laugh at Carol’s bad jokes. 

 

“Ready for bed sweet girl?” and Maria takes the proffered hand, standing without a stumble, and they make their way up the stairs together, back to the master bedroom, naked and laughing, giggling and shoving their way into the master bathroom where they run a bubble bath - with the girliest, most fragrant soap they’d been able to find, at Carol’s request - and kissed gently as they combed their hair into mohawks and beards. 

 

“I have one more thing for you dear one,” and Maria cocks her head questioningly, waits patiently for Carol to continue, “it’s a surprise. If you’ll reach into the cabinet for me there’s a bath bomb box in there.”

 

“You got me a bath bomb! I haven’t had one of those in so long,” Maria squeals with excitement and Carol smiles indulgently as she reaches beneath the sink for the box. She opens the box quickly, tearing through the ribbons and wrapping paper to reach the bomb. It’s pink and purple and smells heavily of roses, and Maria can see hints of rose petals in the crumbly exterior, but most importantly the small bud in the middle is glinting with metal. Her jaw falls open as she takes in the small, rose-gold ring nestled between the carved petals of the bomb. 

 

“You-” she stumbles, stops, picks the ring up and sets the box aside. She holds it in her palm disbelievingly until Carol chuckles and plucks it up, holding it carefully between two fingers.

 

“Maria Rambeau,” she begins and Maria can’t help the sob that escapes her throat, “this past year you have opened my eyes to a love I never thought I would have. You, this sweet, anxious girl I met by chance in a cafe, have changed my life, given me the opportunity to learn and grow beside you, and to watch you do the same. You, the love of my life who leaves her socks in the kitchen and can’t make toast to save her life, are the one I want beside me, for better or for worse. I want to raise our children, raise our cats, and send them off to college together. I want to be there when they, hopefully, find a love as wholesome and all-encompassing as ours, and I want to be there when we take our last breaths. Will you marry me?”

 

She’s barely gotten the words out when she’s being thrown back with the force of Maria’s weight, smothered with kisses, and her trembling hands almost drop the ring several times as she’s sliding it on.

 

“Bucky’s going to be pissed that we’re getting married before him,” Maria says mischievously and Carol can’t help but laugh at the absurd truth of the statement.

 

The first person they tell is Bucky.    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dom/sub, biting/bloodplay, temperature play, impact play, alcohol use during scene, face slapping, face sitting, orgasm control, punishment


	14. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! The final chapter! 
> 
> It's short and sweet and I hope wraps up their story by conveying how happy and loving I want their relationship to be, and how fulfilled I want them to feel.
> 
> Thank you all for coming on this journey with me. I appreciate your comments and dedication so much. 
> 
> If you want, you can follow me on Tumblr (https://silphidaee.tumblr.com/) where I post nerd shit, my own ramblings, and other fics that I'll be writing in the future. Feel free to talk to me as well, I love new geeky friends! 
> 
> No warnings apply for this chapter.

“Mama!” 

 

“What?” and they’re both looking at each other, bursting into giggles, still giddy and unused to the term after just one year. They’ve both responded, they’re both ‘mama’ and they think perhaps one of them should be ‘mom’ and the other ‘mama’ but they’re unwilling to suggest it and rather hope it comes along organically. After all, this, this is great. This is something they’d wanted and hoped for but never thought they’d have. 

 

“What is it lovebug?” Carol asks as she leans down to scoop up one child, all puff-balls and cocoa butter skin. She presses kisses into Shuri’s cheeks, using one hand to tickle her into submission as she tries to squirm away, shrieking and laughing. Maria looks on, a much quieter young man clinging to her legs. He’s older, just barely, but T’Challa can easily be overshadowed by Shuri’s exuberant extraversion. 

 

“We made something!” Shuri exclaims and squirms out of Carol’s grip, pulling her along and grabbing T’Challa by the hand along the way. 

 

“Slow down, I’m old!” Maria exclaims, making a show of huffing and puffing and hobbling with one hand glued to her hips. 

 

“You’re not that old mama,” T’Challa explains patiently, in that calm, no-nonsense way of his. 

 

“I’m forty-four my little panther, that’s practically ancient compared to you,” she responds and ruffles his hair. He scowls, but it’s ruined by the upturn of his lips as she refers to him by his play-pretend alter-ego. They’d always encouraged imagination and creativity in their children, ever since seeing them for the first time in the adoption center three years ago. It’d taken a while to get them, years in fact, but Maria doesn’t wince when she says her age aloud, nor when she thinks about how long it took to get the children, for how short a time they’ve had them, for how long they will have them. It reminds her of the years spent with Carol, by her side, under her hand, in her bed and her arms, and all the years she has left with this small, comfortable family she’s built. With her friends, and how that circle has changed and grown: Phil and Nick have retired but they still bring Maria handmade sachets of her favorite teas, Tony and Bucky and Steve found a way to get married, brought in a forth, and their relationship with Sam is grounding and exciting all at once, Goose and Monica have passed away but left behind a couple of kittens they’d brought home, hungry and dirty and protesting valiantly about being carried by the scruff of their necks through the doorway-

 

She’s pulled from her thoughts by a small hand tugging at her shirt and a piece of heart-shaped construction paper being shoved into her hands. Carol comes up behind her, rests her head on Maria’s shoulder and wraps strong arms around her waist. They glance down at the paper together and Maria feels her own heart leap up into her throat.

 

“My forever family,” she reads aloud, slowly, taking in the shaky block letters drawn by two different sets of chubby little hands. It’s a drawing of all of them, plus the kittens, outside of a comically large house. She chuckles and it turns into a small sob; she’d always been the emotional one. She turns around and Carol gathers her into her arms, rubs her back soothingly. 

 

“Yes sweetheart, your forever family,” and Maria isn’t sure if she’s talking to her or the kids.

 


End file.
